


Malevolent Contributions; We Ruin Everything Or Your Money Back

by maximum_overboner



Series: Tailspin [1]
Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: A farce without end, Dark Comedy, Explicit sex scenes, Extremely Dark Comedy, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, black hat is traipsing about without his nefarious powers, multichapter fic, the goal is to make you laugh and then feel bad, three idiots and their hypercompetent boss try and make the world a shittier place, unhealthy dynamics abound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2018-12-08 05:12:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 90,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11639616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: Dr Flug, in building a device that will boost the strength of the wi-fi in the mansion, accidentally ends all war, famine and disease, single-handedly launching humanity into a shining golden age where strife is a bitter memory. Black Hat, a creature of utmost evil now slowly dying without a constant stream of malevolence to gorge on, sets out to undo world peace one misdeed at a time in a quest to restore his powers and re-establish his dominance as a one-man atrocity.Doing so is not easy when all you have is a suit, a stolen van and three idiots in tow.





	1. Prologue

It’s hard to think highly of yourself when godlike beings are fighting hundreds of feet above you.

Your accomplishments, however amazing, will pale in comparison to the fact that some guy down the road is capable of firing lasers out of his eyes because he got drunk and swigged some radioactive waste. The girl you went to school with, the one that bullied you, she was bitten by a cosmic bug from another dimension so now she can lift things a million times her weight. Your favourite barista left because he was in a car crash, gifting him with the power of a thousand car crashes and is now setting out to save the world one broken back at a time. And then they do, they do save the world while you’re in your dorm, not being invited out. Slicking back their hair and giving the same canned responses to fawning newsreaders and shrieking crowds.

‘Flug’, a self-imposed nickname nobody ever used because self-given nicknames were the height of tackiness, scoffed. Music pounded from the apartment next door, as well as the sound of laughter. Another party. He considered bashing on the wall and shouting something about ‘studying’ but quailed at the thought of someone coming to confront him over it. He sighed, turning up the television. His projects, done. His books studied. His tests aced. His presence, ignored. Breaking news, a truck was dangling off a-- oh! Nevermind! Some bozo in spandex that’s never known a day of hardship in his life has taken care of it. All news is meaningless, it’s time to devote thirty minutes to this guy. Who even was he. There’s only so many lantern jaws you can remember. Flug sunk from ‘depressed’ to ‘bitterly miserable’ in record time, usually it took him a few hours. There he went. Jiggling with pride. Flexing a little.

“This defeat of the scoundrel Black Hat _proves_ that the forces of evil will _never--”_

The screen abruptly cut to static. Then the grey fog lessened until, eventually, Flug could make out the shape of a man. A waving, shaking silhouette that melded into fluctuating bars of the television, but there, wearing a top hat and gesturing with his hands. This was clearly a hijack.

Flug blinked.

Oh! How exciting!

A voice blared from the television, so husky and rasping it was nearly lost in the interference.

“Shut up! just because your parents are forced to listen to the stupid things you have to say doesn’t mean I have to. But if you do happen to come here I’m more than happy to do what your parents should have done and slap you to death. Though I’ll give you credit. You did a very good job saving that one truck. You followed my devious clues and solved the fiendish puzzles. But leaving clues for all three; that’s just incompetence.”

The screen cut back to the news broadcast. The reporter had her hand to her ear, her back to the camera, and General Spandex was looking into the lens like a glassy eyed corpse. Flug was watching something strange play out in real time and he didn’t know what to make of it. The clean, glossy camera work cut out again. Flug, squinting, could make out a high backed chair and… Some sort of office, through the fog. It cleared further.

… Two trucks dangling from a crane? How had he set this up? The amount of work that went into this must have been staggering.

“Oh, but there is hope,” he said “I’ve left a series of breadcrumbs for you to follow. Find them all and save these innocent, helpless people. Are you up to the challenge?”

And back to the news shoot. The man, the superhero, a dime a dozen, puffed up his chest.

“I am.”

Black Hat was filing his long, black talons.

“Oh! Shame I’m lying.”

He hit a button on the desk and resumed. The rope detached, dropping the trucks and killing everyone on board as the vehicles crumpled in a gesture that was as impractical as it was ridiculous. Flug watched with his jaw open. Black Hat chuckled.

“Haha! Ahh. It’s good to love your work, don’t you think? Some homework for you, learn to count to ‘three’ for our next encounter. Provided you live this one down. The bridge is right there if you want to jump, if you hit the water hard enough it’s like smacking against concrete. See you at the funeral. Oh, but take comfort in the fact that the truck you already saved didn’t have anyone you know on it. As for the others, well... At least you won’t have to shell out for party platters at family reunions!”

He tittered, satisfied as if he had played a prank.

“Goodbye, fool! That will teach you to make fun of my hat.”

The broadcast, news included, was cut. A still image apologizing for technical difficulties, interspersed with brief flashes of footage before being cut off again. After another minute it resumed. No camera footage but a constant, rolling ticker at the bottom of the screen, backed with the sounds of panic on the streets.

‘BLACK HAT REAPPEARS AFTER ABSENCE. CAPED CRUSADER TAKES OWN LIFE IN AFTERMATH. MORE TO FOLLOW.’

Flug shoved some popcorn into his mouth, enthralled. He felt something dark and warm coil in his stomach. The party next door was silenced, Flug heard people in the hall making tearful phone calls.

Black Hat, this… Thing had just… Drove someone to take their own life. Killed, presumably, dozens, and wiped out a single lineage over a comment over his hat. It was evil, it was contemptible, it was...

Flug rose to his feet.

A goal! To be that petty and get away with it, the power, the glory! He needed this, he wanted this, he could crush whoever he wanted under his heel!

He still wanted to get his degree, he would put his head down and meekly take what life gave him until then, but when he was done, when he was finished, older, wiser...

If you don’t care for the heroes it’s very easy to find yourself rooting for the villains.


	2. Mobile Battletwats

                                                                                                                                                

The old adage is ‘never meet your heroes’. This holds true. A person won’t live up to the expectations they broadcast over a television screen. The funny aren’t nearly as pithy in person, the smart stumble over their words in front of you like any other idiot. Generally.

Not for Black Hat. He was actually scarier in person. The television whilst approximating the way he moved, didn’t quite capture it. The human brain has been trained over millions of years to expect certain movements in certain ways. The briefest twitch of the leg when sat down, signalling the person is going to stand up. When walking moves to running and when it moves back, even something as simple as blinking isn’t surprising because you know it will have to happen and you’re braced for it.

Black Hat did all those things but in a way that took your expectations and scraped them against the wall. Everything, every lip movement, every blink, even something as simple as reaching for a drink felt wrong as his muscles moved and locked in unusual ways. He was double, and then triple, jointed. He could bend his elbows the wrong way, his head wasn’t truly anchored to his neck so with a pop he would swing it around and then back again, the joints of his fingers would fold upwards just beyond the range of what a human being was capable of. And Flug, despite being in Black Hat’s servitude for a year now, could never brace himself for it. He didn’t think he ever could.

Writing letters requesting work was acceptable. Showing up at the door and begging, crying, still wearing your graduation robes was not. Ploughing your most expensive aircraft into the side of the building was the faux pas of the century, even if the price you paid for doing so was amusing enough to curry his favour.

Flug scratched at his chin under the grocery bag. He resumed his work, tinkering in the lab he had been given, sealed with an impenetrable lock.

“Hi!”

Oh, Jesus. Here she was.

Flug, wearily, looked up. Dementia was stood in front of him, pawing through his blueprints and chewing her gum with her mouth open. Scraggy, wild and dangerously strong, as lean as she was capricious, boasting an unkempt mane. She popped her gum.

“Hello Dementia,” he said, bracing himself for her destructive whims.

“What’re you doing?”

“Oh, I, uh…”

He scratched the back of his neck, always on the back foot when presented with a conversation.

“I’m… Building a device that will strengthen the wi-fi. It’s nothing complicated. This is the only room in the house it doesn’t reach, and I-- I like to listen to music, maybe watch a show while I work, so…”

Dementia blinked.

“Huh! Kind of shitty.”

“You’re just saying that because this doesn’t affect you. You don’t do any work and you do that weird lizard thing when Black Hat screams at you to pay rent.”

“The eye licking, or the invisibility?”

Flug looked at her, still somehow baffled at her ability to sail right over the point.

“The invisibility, Dementia.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes.

”I work! Hitting is work. I’m just here to hit stuff. Real hard!”

“I know,” Flug said, “I’m well aware, it’s all you do.”

“I’m good at it, too! Want me to smash something?”

“God, no. This equipment is all very delicate--”

“Pick something and I’ll break it.”

“I don’t--”

“Anything.”

Flug wearily pointed to a stained beaker, which she thrashed against the ground. She whooped, then abruptly stopped as the air around them grew cold, dense. It felt like breathing syrup.

Flug, knowing what this meant, looked to the (still closed) door. There he was, towering with a top hat, not bothering with the smoke and lasers spectacle of using his powers because he didn’t need to, Flug was already thoroughly subjugated and it would only make Dementia moist. Instead he just stood there, not needing a bombastic announcement. Black Hat bared his numerous, shifting teeth in what he probably thought was a jovial smile. His face was smooth, reptilian, and lacking a nose barring two difficult to see slits that flared when he was angry, which was always.

“Greetings, pathetic bastards!”

Flug waved back weakly while Dementia nearly knocked herself over greeting him in return. Cool and rasping, his syllables stretched and savoured, he continued.

“How are you today?”

“Oh,” Flug said, grateful for the attention, “actually, I--”

Pleasantries over the smile vanished, now a long scowl that was so prominent it looked as if it would burst from the side of his cheeks.

“I don’t care. Look at this.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a newspaper, smacking it on the work desk.

‘BUFFOONS FOILED; TOWN FINE.’

“Oh no,” Flug said, his nerves shot to bits. He looked at the picture on the front page. It was of Black Hat, posturing grandly, sweeping his long coat as he made his speech about the latest and greatest device in their catalogue. It was if he was modelling, not a single stitch of fabric was out of place, not a single hand gesture, he looked like he was posing for a painting.

In the background 5.0.5, the giant blue bear Flug had somehow mistaked into existence, slept. Flug was caught midway through a sneeze so it appeared as if he had been overcome with the sudden and explosive urge to dance, and Dementia was scratching her groin as if the camera wasn’t there.

“Buffoons,” he hissed. “Plural. Before it was ‘Black Hat’ foiled. I could cope with that. I wouldn’t be happy, but all great successes come from mistakes. But buffoons. _Plural._ Do you know what this means?”

Black Hat was a great deal angrier than the average person. What he considered ‘peeved’ constituted a massive stress induced heart attack in a human being. But, even when he wasn’t shouting, Flug could tell when he was furious. His face stretched like putty and, when far gone enough, he forgot to pretend that he needed to blink. Flug was forced to confront this searing, sharp eyed menace without even the smallest respite.

Black Hat wasn’t blinking. It was clear he expected an answer.

“Well-- w-well, I-- I think-- think that--”

Dementia, mercifully, butted in.

“Ohh, that the press thinks you’re an idiot. You’re not an idiot. You’re the best villain ever!”

Black Hat didn’t turn to look at her, keeping his gaze on Flug and watching him squirm.

“Thank you, Dementia, for reaffirming that the press thinks I’m as stupid as you two. I feel so much better.”

“Hey, no problem!”

He pointed to the picture, thrusting his finger so hard that it bent back unnaturally.

“And the picture. The picture. Do you know what villains have going for them? Style. I look fantastic, but you, you morons…”

He was shaking. Flug braced himself for death for the eighth time that week.

“Flug I can understand, sort of; he’s undergoing an involuntary reflex--”

Flug lit up, relieved.

“Aw!”

“-- Make no mistake, you’re still a contemptible idiot--”

“Oh.”

Black Hat snapped his head to look to Dementia, the sinews in his neck popping unnaturally.

“--but what are you doing clawing away! Have some decency, you’re representing a business!”

“I shaved it and I always get mad itchy the day after. Razor bumps, no matter how much coconut oil I--”

His head whipped back and furled open to reveal flesh split with teeth, the upper-class mask breaking. Flug closed his eyes and counted to ten, doing his best to stave off the nose bleeds that came with even an inkling Black Hat’s true appearance. Dementia remained unaffected.

_“It wasn’t a request for more information, I don’t want or need constantly updating news bulletins about your venereal disease-cannon you one woman petri dish!”_

Flug winced at the term, and the topic, but Dementia paid it no mind and popped her chewing gum. With a wet snap, Black Hat’s face was reaffixed.

“Up the quality of your work or I won’t just fire you from this position, _I’ll fire you from this plane of existence!”_

He kicked the steel door in and stormed off, stomping all the way. Flug breathed, clutching his chest, still unequipped to deal with the stress. His hands quivering, he resumed his work. Dementia yawned, as casual as she had been before the great and terrible monster they were shacked up with slithered his way in.

“He's cute when he's mad."

"He's always mad."

"Exactly. That thing you're making, what’s it made of, anyway?”

“It’s not complex at all. All I need is a plastic bottle, some aluminium foil and duct tape--”

 

* * *

 

 

“-- And so it is with a great deal of joy in my heart I say; world peace is finally here.”

Flug clutched his head, shaking, bobbing his foot. From his phone streamed joy, parades, parties in the street, tears. His device, his rudimentary device that had, somehow, through bad luck or perhaps some malevolent cosmic force that took great delight in making him suffer and probably sharing it with some sort of cosmic force buddies, eradicated all known war, famine and disease. The strife, that had plagued mankind ever since it was capable of knowing what strife was, was gone. Popped. Like a balloon. Flaccid. A gamble he didn’t even know he was partaking in had exploded in his face. He didn’t know what happened. Nobody really did. He wasn’t sure if this could ever be replicated. There was a man on a podium, Flug didn’t know who he was, with the villain economy being the way it was important men on podiums were being shot every other week. He spoke.

“... And though we don’t know who is responsible, this person would be the Greatest Hero To Ever Live.”

Flug wailed openly, tears sopping the inside of his bag. Dementia had wandered off, growing bored, but was drawn back in by his pathetic warbles.

“What’s up with you?”

Flug didn’t respond. She listened to the news feed.

“No way.”

“He’s going to hate this. Oh no. Oh my God. Oh my God, Dementia, what do I do.”

“Religious?”

“No-- No, I’m--”

“I’d just pick any god you can think of and start hammering out some prayers.”

Dementia gave him a solemn pat on the shoulder.

“It’s been real.”

“No. No, no, no, don’t say ‘it’s been real’, that’s-- are you saying goodbye, I--”

She walked off again, leaving to do God knows what. He couldn’t panic. He was panicking right now, but he couldn’t. Breathe slowly, think positively, breathe slowly, think positively--

He heard a deleterious shriek. It bounded and rebounded from the hallway, thundering down its length to pierce his eardrums. Flug considered tearing off his bag to hyperventilate into it. Breathe slowly, think--

Then staccato, thudding clacks against the floor, growing in volume. Breathing, like that of a wounded animal, slurred and rasping. Breathe--

“Flug, _what the fuck have you done!”_

Breathe quickly, panic, breathe quickly, panic. He felt a long talon grip his shoulder, then whip him around. Black Hat stood unevenly, supporting most of his weight on one leg, struggling to keep his eyes open.

“What did you do!”

Flug whimpered, gripped by the lapels of his jacket. All he could see was the murderous look in Black Hat’s eyes, all he could smell was his rancid breath, like rotting meat, spittle flecking the corners of his mouth.

“H-How did you know it was--”

“Because I suspected and you just admitted it!”

Oh no. Oh God.

_“How! How did you do this!”_

_“I don’t know, sir! I just wanted to fix the wifi! I just wanted to watch Game of Thrones, sir!”_

“I’m a depraved creature of the night, Flug, do you have any idea what you’ve just done to me, do you have _any_ idea of the havoc you’ve just wrought!”

“I’m-- I’m sorry for undoing your empire, sir--”

Usually, Black Hat would tear his own face off in frustration, but Flug watched as he took careful steps not to do that.

“I feed on evil, I need it, I need it to live, I don’t just do all this for the fun of it, I’m a monster!”

“Then-- Then we can get the business up and running again--”

From the look in his eyes, it was clear Black Hat was weighing up the idea of tearing Flug’s face off instead.

“There’s only one thing I can rely on you to do and it’s to cunt everything up beyond belief-- my powers--!”

Flug blanched.

“I haven’t. Tell me I didn't.”

“You _have.”_

“I haven’t.”

Black Hat, unable to explode in a cloud of flesh, bared his teeth. His gums were pale, shiny, his breathing was heavy and the effort needed to grab Flug by the collar was proving to be too much. His legs shook.

“Sir, you-- you don’t look very well.”

“Yes, Flug! I’m not feeling very well! I’m _fucking dying!”_

To Flug’s shock, Black Hat threw his head down upon his shoulder. Not out of comfort, but in the way an exhausted boxer does, trying to muster up the strength to continue.

“A thousand years and a million men couldn’t touch me,” Black Hat said, near hysterics, “but some _pleb_ with a  _paper bag_ is going to be my undoing, what’s the point of a universe without me in it? I-- I can’t handle this--”

It appeared to be Black Hat’s turn to hyperventilate.

“I can’t rely on any of my contacts, every single super villain on the planet will be rocketing towards us as we speak-- the status that would come with killing me, I--”

“I-It’s common knowledge you would lose your powers?”

“It shouldn’t be, but people make assumptions, I can’t risk it, not like this--”

Black Hat looked, for what may have been the first time in his life, fearful. Flug didn’t know how to process the expression he was seeing, he was so unaccustomed to it.

“We have to leave.”

“We have to do what? S-Sir, this place is outfitted with the finest security in the world, I built it myself--”

“Exactly. Exactly, Flug, you built it. I’m not safe, I-- we have to leave.”

Black Hat tightened his shaking grip on Flug’s coat, pressing his face in so close that Flug could see every individual scale, dull and sickly.

“You will fix this, I will drag you by your _balls_ if I have to, you are coming with me!”

“I-- Wh--”

“The van.”

“What van?”

“Dementia’s!”

“That thing works? I thought she just used it as a place to get stoned and eat the snacks she steals from me.”

“It better. If it doesn’t I’m using your kidneys as rollerskates.”

Black Hat threw his weight on Flug, treating him with the same respect and dignity he would give to a particularly sturdy stick. Flug, not all that physically strong and still deeply afraid, helped him navigate to the garage as best he could. They were hooked over one another, shambling, Black Hat cursing him the whole time. And there it was, old, rusty and with a rushed neon paint job. The shitty van, music playing faintly from the inside.

With the last of his strength, Black Hat threw open the side door. Dementia was sat on a ragged waterbed, eating a jumbo bag of pistachios Flug was sure he had hidden. Next to her was 5.0.5, also eating pistachios, pawing uselessly at the shells.

“Oh! ‘Sup?”

Black Hat was near foaming at the mouth, leaning in to accentuate his presence and compensate for the fact he was now as strong as wet bread.

“Dementia!”

“Yeah?”

“Start the van!”

“Okay! Why?”

_“Don’t question me you rainbow trollop!”_

She didn’t, clambering into the front over the seat. Flug climbed into the back but was kicked out by Black Hat.

“I can’t afford to be seen. I’m sitting on the bed. I want you as far away as you can get. Sit in the front and don't look at me.”

“O-Of course, I’m sorry--”

“Shut up,” he spat. “Just… Shut up. Get in and shut up.”

Flug, cowed, climbed in the front and put on his seatbelt.

“Wh-Where did you get this?”

Dementia laughed.

“Pfft, this old thing? Got it off some guy, he wasn’t using it anymore--”

“Wasn’t using it anymore? What-- What do you mean by that, I’m worried.”

“He was sat still. In the driver’s seat. You know, not doing anything. Being kinda selfish with it.”

Flug blinked, putting the pieces together.

“... Did you drag some guy out of his van at a red light and drive off?”

“Yeah! I mean, he wasn’t even going forward. What’s the point? Speaking of which--”

“I don’t know if--”

She floored it, mashing her foot to the pedal and taking out the garage door in the process. Black Hat sat in the back, on the waterbed, 5.0.5 curled in the corner. Black Hat was limp. His powers, gone. His life, in shambles. These idiots, amok, and he didn’t have the means to end their lives explosively and hilariously. He, in a haze, bent his fingers back and found their range lacking. He couldn’t dislocate his bones at will, couldn’t transform, couldn’t be what he _really_ was. The shapeshifter couldn’t shapeshift. He was ruined. And all he had to show for it was these degenerates.

He slumped forward, holding his face in his hands. And Flug, though deeply afraid, saw his idol suffering. Even for all of his terrible treatment and impossible demands, he was hurting. Flug reached into his front pocket and handed a tissue to the back as discreetly as he could. Black Hat looked at this kind gesture and then smacked Flug’s hand away, as hard as he was able.

“I am seeping _bile_ from my _hate glands,_ don’t you ever think I’m capable of doing something as shameful as _crying_ ever again!”

Flug held his wrist, not knowing where to even begin. "U-Um, I--”

_“Never, Flug!”_

Black Hat battered his fist against the door to the van to punctuate the statement, wincing with pain as it rattled against the metal. He looked to his hand bleakly. Flexing it.  

Dementia shrugged, taking this at face value, driving full pelt down the wrong side of the road. Flug, whilst pleading for her to stop, looked back to Black Hat, unsure of what to say.

Given the watery, hate-filled look he received, he thought it best not to say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (it may say chapter 2 but shhh ;>)
> 
> i have a tumblr, if you would like more of my saucy pisswords! maximum-overboner.tumblr.com
> 
> thank you for reading! ( ᐛ )و


	3. Sickly Pugilism

                                                                                                                                                                                                        

 

They trundled along out of necessity. Flug was sure the van would rattle apart should they reach too high a speed, and he didn’t want to push Black Hat off the looming cliff he was perched upon mentally with a catastrophic breakdown. The quiet, restrained tears had stopped, replaced with something numb and empty, not even mustering up the effort to push away 5.0.5 when he would rub his scalp against Black Hat’s palms in an effort for affection. He just sat there, hunched. 

Navigating was difficult, people were out in droves, crying, hugging, occasionally springing into spontaneous, rapturous orgies, but after some time they successfully cleared the crowds and scattered cock cornucopias. Though this process did involve pleading with Dementia to stay focused on the road as she rubbernecked but, if he were honest, if his circumstances weren’t so dire Flug would have leapt in himself. But they were, they were dire, and he had to keep that in the forefront of his mind.

He looked back to Black Hat, awash with guilt. Something occurred to him.

“Dementia, where are we going?”

“Old haunt of mine. It’s out of the way, so nobody will stumble across us. At least, I hope not, I haven’t been back in years. Might not be there anymore.”

They left the city. The large roads, cramped with cars, narrowed to thin streets, then to dirt paths, and before they knew it they were in the woods. Dementia hemmed and hawed until she passed a particularly pointy boulder, then traversed a dirt road to a clearing. Large, empty, with a dusty circle in the middle. She came to a stop, leaning forward to survey the place.

“This used to be a campsite, but it lost business because of that ghost that’d set stuff on fire. Grass. Tents. Other kids. Ended up shutting down.”

“Ghosts don’t exist.”

Dementia threw Flug a meaningful wink and mimicked sparking a lighter.

“Yup! We should be good here, for now. It’s not a mansion, but, uh… It’s ok I guess.”

Flug climbed out, as did she, 5.0.5 pawing at the door until he could leave in turn. He padded over to a particularly soft patch of grass, in his element, and resumed the extremely strenuous activity of lying down. Dementia braced her hands to her hips, inhaling a lungful of air and puffing it out again.

“Boy does this take me back! A lot of fond memories here. Used to gather up lizards by the handful, stick ‘em to my arms and run around. Good times.”

She set about gathering dry wood from the ground, Flug nervously helping in turn, unsure of what good kindling actually felt like. His contributions were tossed aside as the sticks were damp, but Dementia snapped a few thin branches from the surrounding oaks and tossed them into a pile of the centre of their rudimentary camp.

“Good thinking,” Flug said, impressed with her focus, “a campfire will let us all sit down, get our-- get our bearings.”

She slowed, then stopped.

“Oh! Oh, yeah, sure, I can do a campfire.”

“Were you… Were you just going to start a fire for the fun of it?”

“... No.”

Flug knit his brows, not that it could be seen for his bag. The van creaked as the weight within it shifted. Black Hat rose to his feet, the numbness eaten away by apoplectic anger.

“Shirt off.”

“What?”

“Shirt off, Flug!”

“Why?”

“Because we’re going to fight, why else.”

“We’re going to do what now?”

Black Hat slumped, before forcing himself upright again, resting his weight against the van.

“Bare-knuckle boxing. I can’t tear my face in half and chew you to death, so I’ll just have to do it the old fashioned way.”

Flug, confused, but still in the throes of guilt, removed his shirt. He was pale, flabby and untoned, with a slight paunch and soft arms. Black Hat, with some difficulty, removed his jacket and shirt also. He didn’t fare much better. His physique was spindly, his grey skin taut over jutting ribs, his abdomen appearing atrophied. His arms were skeletal, with thin muscles coiled around his bones, like a den of snakes gathered and pulled at the tails. Even in his prime, this was him. Flug looked him over and found it in himself to be unsettled as Black Hat lacked a belly button. It set off the evolutionary alarm bells in Flug’s head, tolling ‘escape’ and ‘unnatural’ in turn, a detail that was a great deal more subtle than slavering maws and gnashing teeth but made his skin crawl all the same. That even at his frailest Black Hat was a stalking, alien predator that gorged on the weak.

“Sir, I really, really don’t think--”

He was met with rabid, frothing hate, like a beaten dog in a cage.

“Shut up, shut up, I’ll kill you, shut up--”

“Of course, sorry again--”

Black Hat raised his fists, bracing them in front of his face with confidence and ease. Flug, having never thrown a punch in his life, tried the same, and whilst battling Black Hat was something people wrote stories about in his current state it felt like battling a garden rake with a face drawn on it. Dementia spoke up from outside the death ring.

“Ooh! Ooh! Do I fight the winner?”

Black Hat chuckled darkly, hiding the fact that Dementia would obliterate him in a fight in his weakened state. This was for his pride, his pride and his anger. But if his victory was decisive, perhaps. Flug looked on, resigned to the fact that the ‘winner’ would not be him.

“I don’t have any quarrel with you at this specific moment in time--”

“God, I want you to hit me.”

Black Hat sighed.

“My ‘maybe’ is now a ‘never’.”

“Damn it!”

Dementia sat back, taking in the sight of Black Hat shirtless and preparing herself for the battle of the century. She took a long, hard look at him, and found that he didn’t look well.

“Hey, um, I’m always happy to see you beat down some nerd, but are you sure you’re… Up to this?”

“Yes, Dementia,” he lied, “this is just my outward appearance. Inside I’m as strong as I ever was.”

“Oh! Ok.”

With a thunderous beating of his fist against the bones of his chest, Black Hat lunged forward and swung with all his might. He missed, shambled to the nearest tree and vomited, hands to his knees, then shambled back, braced himself to strike, spewed again and fell over. Flug watched this with his fists still in the air, as worried as he was baffled.

“S-Sir, we-- we should maybe duel to the death when you’re not, when you’re not so ill--”

It occurred to Flug that it was the two of them, half naked in a forest trying to hit each other, with one party vomiting and the other wishing he was somewhere else. He felt like he had taken a wrong turn and ended up in the worst porn shoot in history. Not helping matters was the voyeur, who had grown impatient.

“My turn!”

“Wait--”

With one fluid motion Dementia tore her shirt off, then leapt into the fray and began beating the living daylights out of both of them. 5.0.5 clapped gently in the sidelines.

 

* * *

 

With the victor decided (it was Dementia) they set about adjusting to their new situation. They had, to their name, enough money for a few day’s worth of meals, a battered acoustic guitar, Flug’s beloved laser pen, and an indestructible bear that would cry if you asked it to gore someone. This was what was known in the villain community as diddly squat. Flug and Black Hat sat opposite each other, warming themselves by the fire, Dementia wandering off to heed the call of nature, leaving them to it. Black Hat’s jacket was draped over him like a cape as he had refused Flug’s attempts to help him put it on, preferring to freeze if necessary. Flug’s attempts to relax were thwarted as every time he glanced up Black Hat was planning various ways to torture him to death, it was written across his face and his shining, unblinking eyes. Every apology that tumbled out of Flug’s mouth was met with furious orders to shut up until they sat in awkward silence broken only by Flug’s occasional sniffle and Black Hat’s laboured breathing. Then, faintly, croaking. Flug strained his ears, hearing as it grew louder. He looked down to his feet and found it there, small, plump and slimy, adorable and blinking. Gently, Flug picked it up, cooing. He looked to Black Hat, eager to break the awkward silence with the obvious.

“It’s a frog.”

“Obviously. What sort?”

“The… The bouncing sort?”

Black Hat threw him a look that could melt glass.

“Give it here.”

“You’ll hurt it, sir. I’ll feel awful.”

“Stop whinging, I won’t. I’m a keen observer of reptiles and amphibians.”

He flicked his tongue out, long, rattling and snakelike.

“It will be safe with me.”

Flug, hesitantly, handed it over. Black Hat gently took it in his hands, inspecting it with his fingers. The top, the eyes, and the soft, wet underbelly, the thing croaking the whole time.

“A grey tree frog.”

He poked it gently with his pinkie until it croaked again, wiggling its legs. Flug saw the briefest glimmer of fondness.

“Cute, isn’t it?”

“It is, sir. I like the little feet--”

Black Hat made a small, almost imperceptible noise. He then opened his mouth, tore its head off and choked back its guts in one slurp, before pushing the twitching, spasming lump into his maw and swallowing it whole, knocking back his head in a motion to force it down. He looked to Flug, and Flug looked back. Gore pasted Black Hat's teeth.

“They don’t descend from trees unless they’re breeding, and it’s not the season. That one was ill. It would have died anyway.”

“Oh.”

Another awkward, heavy silence. Flug attempted to apologize for the thirtieth time in six hours. Black Hat pressed his hand to his head.

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, Hell's fucking bells, every time you open your stupid little mouth it’s like you’re taking a knife and ramming it into my chest as hard as you can! You’re as charismatic as a kick to the arse. With your science. And your wi-fi.”

“I’m s--”

“-- Up, shut up, do something right for once in your life and shut up you spineless, craven idiot, shut up! Flug Slys, you waste of flesh!”

Dementia sat down, her business attended to.

“Flug Slys?”

Flug nodded, resigning himself to a verbal whipping instead of a literal one.

“Yes.”

“Your name is Flug Slys.”

“It is.”

Dementia mouthed the words, before skittering off back to the van to fetch her phone. Black Hat, spent from his outburst, slouched, shivering and clutching his coat to himself. And Flug, despite everything, couldn’t shake his pity.

“How… How long do you--”

Black Hat spat out his words like he was hawking bile. Flug barely heard him.

“Shut up. Stop. Shut up.”

Before Flug could dare to press the subject Dementia skittered back, waving her smartphone. As chipper as ever because although Black Hat was dying he wasn’t, you know, dying-dying, like those people she would beat, or those guys that would show up on the news. He was Black Hat.

_“Plane crash!”_

“Hm?”

“Flug Slys; flugslys, _plane crash,_ that’s what the word means!”

“Yes,” Flug said.

“What kind of a name is that? Did you parents not love you or something?”

“They didn’t, but this isn’t what they called me. It’s, you know, my villain name.”

Dementia cackled cruelly.

“A little on the nose, don’t you think? Might as well call yourself 'Trauma Burnsley'. But that name would fit you just as much, right--?”

Flug stood up, still reeling from the haymaker she had given him earlier.

“I had to research things to come up with my name! I had to google things about Iceland! For at least twenty minutes! You share an alias with a disease that makes old people fight and piss themselves.”

Dementia rocketed to her feet, her caustic humour gone.

“Hey--!”

Black Hat spoke up.

“Enough! You’re both as terrible as each other, now sit down. I am… I am not well, and don’t want to put up with your bickering.”

They both sat down, sheepish. Dementia scratched at her head.

“Right. Sorry, Hatty.”

Black Hat turned to face her, slowly, to look her in the eye.

“Don’t you _ever_ call me that again.”

“Sure thing, Snookums. Hunkybear. Stygian Stud.”

“I can feel my organs melting in my gut so I would like to congratulate you on making me feel a sensation that is somehow worse than that. I had to tell you what a horse was the other day-- how do you not know that, yet know the word _stygian.”_

“Suggestions from the villain forums I run. Cute, right?”

Flug blinked, then looked at her.

“You don’t know what a horse is?”

“I thought it was that thing really hungry people could eat. You know, ‘I could eat a horse’. A figure of speech.”

“... I… Have you ever seen a western?”

“Oh yeah.”

“What did you think the cowboys were riding?”

She shrugged.

“Freaky dogs.”

Flug, unsure of how to process the information he had just learned, powered on. His idol was dying a slow, painful death in front of him and he had betrayed all that he loved and stood for, but if there was one thing his self-help books had taught him it was that a positive attitude accounted for a lot.

“Maybe-- Maybe this will be good for all of us. Adversity is a chance to get better. We have, you know, a-- a troupe going.”

He made a half hearted gesture with his arms.

“A merry band of miscreants.”

“Don’t call us a band ever again,” Black Hat spat, “I would rather die.”

“Oh… Um, I was just thinking--”

“I don’t care, Flug. I… I don’t care. It has been a long day, and I don’t care. I’m knackered.”

Dementia chimed in.

“I care!”

“You be quiet.”  

She sat down, dejected, then raced to the van and back again with boundless energy, clutching a battered guitar.

“We’re around a campfire! Lemme sing a little song to lift the mood.”

“Don’t,” said Black Hat, unwilling to entertain this. Flug spoke up meekly.

“Now hold on, Dementia is actually very good at the guitar! Maybe it will… Will make us all feel better.”

“Thanks, friendless loser,” she said.

“Why are you like this.”

With a flip of the hair, she began. She strummed, deftly moving her fingers and plucking out clear, pleasant tones. Flug tapped his knee whilst Black Hat prayed for death to come quickly. She began to sing.

“We’re all fucked!”

Flug regretted encouraging her.

“Bad guys looking for us! Bad guys looking for us! Everyone looking for us!”

This appeared to be the freestyle portion of the song, as she thrashed her head back and forth like a particularly jumpy infant on a roller coaster.

“Dying in prison! Dying in prison! Gettin’ shanked in the lunch line! Bleeding out in prison!”

And to the solo. Flug joined Black Hat in looking forward blankly.

“Gutting, stabbing, dying, _poison,_ lacerations, strangulations, knifing, _poison--”_

Flug could  _feel_ Black Hat staring at him, could _feel_ those cold snake eyes drilling into his soul. She repeated her list then shredded for eight minutes, before growing bored and petering off. Black Hat spoke, monotone.

“Do you feel better, Flug.”

“No…”

“Have your spirits been lifted.”

“No, sir…”

Dementia strummed once more, for good measure.

“I mean, I feel a lot better!”

Black Hat took this lull as an opportunity to wallow in existential despair, the feeling new and devastating.

“Look at me. Look at what I’ve been reduced to. Look at what you’ve done.”

Flug responded, tapping his fingers to one another.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s… This isn’t very good, is it?”

Oh, there’s that rage again. 

“Look at you all! You’re a shambling pile of neuroses poured into a flabby mould; you wouldn’t know your own spine even if I tore it out and presented it to you, which I’m considering.”

Flug crossed his arms, affronted.

“I don’t shamble, my posture is very good!”

Black Hat turned around to point at Dementia, frothing.

 _“You’re_ a deranged stalker intent on getting into my dastardly boxers. I keep you around for the sole purpose, the _sole purpose,_ of heavy lifting. I would call your attention span ‘short’ but that implies you have some to burn through in the first place. You are unbelievably expendable to me. Never forget that.”

Dementia was braiding her hair.

“Haha! Yeah! What are we talking about, I zoned out.”

Black Hat, now foaming at the mouth, swung around to jab his finger at 5.0.5.

 _“You._ Oh, don’t you get me bloody started on _you!_ Do you remember that spider? The spider that was a thousandth of your size? The one that crawled up to you? You cowered in a corner until I walked in and ate it, and then you started blubbering. Why are you even here, what do you bring to this already awful table?”

5.0.5 considered this point very carefully and then burst into tears again. Flug, tired, sore and more than a little bitter, couldn’t help himself.

“And you’re a reptilian monster incapable of any real feelings that does nothing but spew venom at the people trying to help you!”

“Don’t frame the only upside in a negative light, Flug. That thinking kills businesses, and also you if you don’t shut your mouth.”

Finally, finally Flug snapped. He gestured, raising his voice,

“I-If we all got in that van and drove off, if we left you here, what would you be able to do?”

Black Hat was silent and bitter, like a lemon to the arsehole. His voice was hushed, but not gentle.

“You’ve already ruined my life. Don’t rub it in. And besides, it’s in your best interests to keep me alive.”

And Flug saw something, he wasn’t sure what it was, if it was fear or hesitance, but it compelled him to keep asking.

“Why?”

And there was that look again! Reticence, mixed with something fleeting. Beyond the normal fear of death.

“It just is,” he insisted. “I’m your boss. Your superior. Think of all the amazing things I’ve done. The Infinite Heist. The Swiss Army Nuke. The Truck Splatter-- you watched that one on television, in your first year at university, I remember you gushing about it at my doorstep.”

Flug, knowing he wouldn’t make headway, calmed down. The fond memories tempered his mood.

“Right… Right, of course. That was uncalled for, sorry. What we need,” Flug said, “is a plan.”

“Shoot.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me. You got me into this mess, you get me out.”

Flug stuttered, not thinking he would get this far. He said the first thing he could think of.

“If we just go in swinging we’ll get nowhere fast. We don’t have a lot of resources, but… I think we can still pull this together. If we choose our targets very carefully and-- and think on it, we can maximise the amount of damage we do. If you want to cripple somebody you can’t go in blind and hope for the best, you mark out a tendon and snap it, or-- or slice a muscle. So with that being said, I think the best way to go about things is to be-- to be really careful. Instead of mugging a guy on the street for his wallet we-- we target the building he banks with. But with only three of us it’ll be… It’ll be really slow going. Well planned, clean evil.”

Flug tapped his fingers to one another, sweating.

“That’s what I think. It’s not very good.”

Dementia shot her hand in the air, waiting to be picked. Black Hat looked at her, wearily.

“You aren’t in a class, Dementia, you can talk.”

“I think we get out there and do as much damage as we can, then book it! Planning and prepping; by the time we do all that you could be dead! The whole point of us doing this, being evil, is to terrify people, right? Get the respect we deserve that they won’t give us unless we beat it out of ‘em. Murders, fire, riots, the more we do the better. The police can only cover so much chaos, once it gets out of their hands we’ve already won! I think we should all get in the van, drive out, pick a street and start smashing skulls in. No thought, no prep; nobody can account for random violence, not when it just happens like that. Then we get in the van and keep going.”

Black Hat mulled on his options, tapping his claws against his chin.

“I can appreciate both. I love the intricacy of a well-executed plan, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy a good scrap or two. We can’t afford to be twitchy, but we can’t afford to be cautious, either. Prudent, we’ll have to be prudent.”

Flug and Dementia waited eagerly as the most evil creature alive thought on their offerings. Flug, voice creaking, spoke up.

“What should we do, sir? What do we pick?”

Black Hat laughed, the first cackle he had managed to summon since the incident.

“The fact you think I have to pick between the two shows you aren’t cut out for this. We do what we can get away with.”


	4. Meat Fixes Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm very excited about all the new villainous stuff coming in the pipeline! a pilot, and animated shorts? so cool!!
> 
> thank you for your patience!

                                                                                 

 

It was decided that Black Hat would get the waterbed both on account of the fact that he would complain and the fact that he was dying in horrible agony. Dementia had hauled it out of the van and onto the ground, nearer to the campfire. He was wrapped in the (slightly suspect) blanket, shivering, attempting to cocoon himself as best he could. Flug had decided on a particularly dry patch of grass, bunching up his lab-coat for comfort. Dementia, desperately bored, was pulling handfuls of grass out of the earth where she lay. 5.0.5 had set out to find a comfortable spot to sleep. Black Hat watched him go; back and forth, back and forth.  

“You know what I’m not happy about?”

“Most things,” Flug replied with a tinge of bitterness, his exhaustion not helping his mood.

“Correct,” he said, “but I miss my home. I miss my bedroom, and my soft bed, and deadly pit of terrible spikes in the basement. All my nice teas and coffees. The post is going to pile up while I’m gone. That fucking bear can’t do the housework now that he’s lingering here like a blue tumour. It’s going to get dusty. Some villains can get away with the dilapidated mansion aesthetic, but I’m too suave for that.”

“You’re worried… About dust?”

“I’m allowed to be house-proud, you know. That house is my pride and joy. The junk mail that will pile up… Most of it is pamphlets. For cults. Cults that worship _me._ Now that I won’t miss. I don’t even like them. I don’t know where they all got the idea that they’re my ‘chosen’; I didn’t tell them that.”

“I signed us up for a Black Hat cult mailing list,” Dementia said casually.

“You did what?”

“Yeah! I like to check them out, y’know, shop around a little. The Reunified Sect of the Dark Cap had a pretty sweet commune thing going on, but the leader was a total dick. So many power trips! Like, dude? We’re not here to worship you, you’re just the guy that owns the warehouse? Calm down, right? It wasn’t even his warehouse, I think it was his uncle’s, but he caught a case of stab wounds or whatever. Uh, I thought I joined a cult for a while, but it turned out I accidentally joined a thrash metal band for eight months. Boinked the lead singer but got my nipple piercing caught in his beard. What a trip to the ER that was. People thought he had his head to my chest like it was a romance thing, then they’d look harder and see my sad titties buried under there like a vole in a shrub. Stole his wallet. Shitty metal bands make a lot less money than you think they do, somehow.”

“Dementia?”

“Yes, Hatty?”

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

She thought on it, shrugged, then resumed pulling grass.

“You sure you don’t want a little company? I’m very warm. Big spoon _and_ little spoon material right here.”

“Yes, Dementia. I’m sure.”

“All of us sleeping on the waterbed isn’t a bad call,” Flug pointed out. I mean, it-- it might help you with your body heat, aren’t you cold-blooded--?”

Black Hat grunted, but Flug was unsure if it was in agreement or denial.

“I’m not snuggling arse-to-arse with a demented stalker and the buffoon that ruined my life! I’d rather freeze to death.”

Dementia shrugged again, reared her head back, slammed it into the hard ground and fell asleep. Or into a concussion-coma, Flug wasn’t sure. In any case, he was slightly safer now that she was unconscious. Black Hat flopped back onto the bed in a manner that lacked sufficient drama for his tastes; the waterbed jiggled too much to allow proper brooding. He sighed.

“I can’t just… Kill people I dislike anymore. My only vice, gone. Flug, you’re a weak-willed, spineless person. That I dislike. How do you cope with it?”

“Um, I do a lot of breathing exercises. P-Positive thinking. My doctor says I should really, really be on antidepressants, but we can’t have any pills in the house because Dementia will find them and take them all at once.”

“Hmm. How has that been working out?”

“I’ve never been more stressed in my life. I keep getting chest pains. The mansion was like a war zone. Sometimes I would wake up crying in parts of the house that I knew didn’t exist the day before. Life is bleak, sir. It’s very bleak.”

“Oh, fat lot of help you are. Speaking of depressing situations; we can get by tonight, but we’re going to have to think about food. Bread, water, raw meat. And about that thing--”

Black Hat threw a dismissive glance towards 5.0.5, who was making a daisy chain.

“A bear. A bear! How are you going to feed this thing, do you know how much it will _eat?”_

“Actually, sir,” Flug said rather smugly, “5.0.5. lives on sunshine, dewdrops and friendship. We won’t need to worry about food for him at all. We just need to let him frolic and give him tummy rubs for at least half an hour a day.”

“Congratulations; you’ve achieved the impossible and made me hate this fucking thing even more. I’d say goodnight, but I wouldn’t mean it.”

He settled in before Flug interrupted.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“It’s not like I can leave so you might as well.”

“Sir; what are you?”

Black Hat peeped his head from the blanket and rolled his eye, the other squeezed shut.

“Again? You keep asking.”

“Because you never answer it.”

He groaned, propping himself up on his elbow and listening to the crackle of the fire.

“Have you ever gotten up for a drink in the middle of the night, Flug?”

“Of course.”

“When you walk in the dark and see something at the doorway, creeping like a shadow over a rock, just in your periphery. Long, slender, prowling, and when you turn to face it, imaginary. I’m that. But I’m very, very real.”

“You’re a demon? The… The Biblical sort?”

Black Hat chuckled.

“You wish. That would make me a little easier to categorize. If you are a human,” he said simply, “then I am something far greater because at least I’m honest with my intentions.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean, Flug.”

”I think that’s something you just made up to sound scary. I don’t think that statement means anything and that you’re just stringing words together.”

The sly smile from Black Hat confirmed it.

“Oh, maybe it does mean something. Maybe it doesn’t. Who can say?”

“Why be so secretive when you can threaten people with-- with what you are. I would.”

“I enjoy it. I like to tell people different things. I lie a lot. I’m lying right now.”

“Lying about lying, or lying about what you are?”

Black Hat looked at him in a self-satisfied manner, then rolled over to sleep. Flug, a scientist first and foremost, couldn’t put his curiosity to bed, not when the subject of his questions was lying there, primed for prodding. But his interest swirled with his fear before he remembered.

What could Black Hat actually do to him? In the mansion it was different, he was some ungodly spectre that could rise from the floor at any moment to confront you, but here he was, moments from puking on a waterbed. Flug gathered his nerves and spoke, testing what he could get away with.

“Don’t you think we should know? Your staff?”

Black Hat propped himself up on his elbow, disgusted with Flug’s insolence but too weak to quash it.

“It’s amazing,” he said, “I can blow up ten buildings or torture a thousand people to death and all anyone will think about as is ‘where did he come from’. Does it matter? Shouldn’t you be thinking about the fact I’ve blown up those buildings? Or that I’m killing, maiming, torturing for sport? Perhaps doing something in the time it takes to ask inane questions? Your lot seem so focused on what I might be that you all forget to look at what I’m actually doing. I’m already here, so it’s not as if prying will stop me.”

“An alien.”

Black Hat cocked an eyebrow.

“What?”

“An alien,” Flug repeated.

Black Hat did not respond, choosing to indulge himself in denying Flug an answer, like a nice, warm heat pack for his soul.

“A-- A demon? A different kind?”

And again, no response.

“A monster?”

“Oh I’m absolutely a monster,” he said, “but in the way you’re asking? Who knows! Certainly not little old me.”

“A vampire?”

“I do happen to enjoy supping on a nice plump neck or two.”

“So you’re--!”

“Oh, no, not at all. Not in the slightest. I’m just enjoying a nice, relaxing chit-chat with an employee after hours. But keep guessing, I’m having fun watching you go.”

Flug wracked his brains, well out of his element, the mere implication of anything supernatural making him uncomfortable. It’s hard to have faith in numbers when reality can be bent to whims you couldn’t comprehend, nevermind jot down and categorize.

“Extraterrestrial, supernatural, you clearly have some sort of--- some sort of magic, but--?”

Black Hat narrowed his eyes, with a wide smile piercing the corners of his cheeks as Flug gained no ground. Flug mumbled to himself, throwing possibilities out errantly.

“Something from another dimension, an otherworldly horror, human...”

And the smile vanished, but the narrowed eyes remained.

“No,” he said, “not that.”

Flug took a moment to register what he had said, more thinking aloud than asking him sincerely.

“Oh! Oh, well… At least I’ve-- I’ve ruled that out.”

“Entirely. Don’t insult me like that ever again! Comparing you awful things to me, a master of my craft, _pah!_ All you have are numbers! Numbers and your little cobbled together tools, not much better than those arrowheads you were lashing together not too far back. You learn to start a fire, wear a few pelts and start strutting about the joint like you’re some sort of apex predator, so content with your torches and your fires that you don’t think to look beyond them to see--”

Black Hat jabbed his thumb at himself, pointed and sharp.

“--what is slavering over you! The arrogance of it! Men shambling in the loose skin of beasts, pretending that they’re one and the same! Shameful, weak parodies of what I truly am; I’m just glad you all have the sense to openly acknowledge me as your better!”

“But what _are_ you.”

“Oh,” Black Hat said, paying no heed, “that’s beside the point.”

Flug gripped his bag in exasperation, suppressing a shout of frustration. “You know,” Flug said, “if Dementia had just left and not made this fire for us, you would have frozen to death.”

Black Hat looked at him, to the top of his bag, to his feet, then to the bag again.

“What’s your point.”

“She didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, she did.”

They shared a look. A silent acknowledgement of Black Hat’s waning leverage.

“You can think what you want,” Flug said, “or-- or make big speeches, but, um… With the way you are, I don’t think… You’re going to get very far on your own. Probably die, actually. Alone. And cold. But, um, I mean--”

“Was that a threat?”

“No,” Flug squeaked, “no, no, not at all--”

“That’s a shame; I would have admired your pragmatism. I would threaten me, in your shoes."

“I’m just saying that I know you’re used to doing your own thing, in your own way, but if we all work together--”

Black Hat groaned audibly.

“-- And we pull through for one another--”

It grew in volume until he was shouting in displeasure.

“With teamwork and, I hope, friendship--”

“There it is,” Black Hat cried, “there it is, I knew it was coming, I feared this from the very start! I am _not_ learning the ‘value of friendship’, I am _not_ putting up with your nonsense, I am _not_ entertaining this idea. You will act because you fear and owe me, not because you care for me because I sure as tits don’t care about you! This nonsense brings down groups from the inside, you know! I’ve seen it happen time and time again! Honed, killing instincts making way for whatever friends do! Eating marshmallows, or wearing jumpers! There will be no _hugging,_ there will be no _begrudging admissions of pride,_ there will be no more campfire bloody singsongs!”

Flug, emboldened and so tired as to be near drunk, looked at Black Hat.

“I mean, I think there can be a little.”

“No!”

“I’m not saying we should be draped over one another, but healthy group bonds are-- are good for everyone. Strengthening. Especially since you’re--”

Dying painfully.

“-- Not well.

“I knew it was a mistake letting you buy those self-help books you quack, I refuse, I refuse to take part in this!”

“You are _going_ to have to rely on us.”

Black Hat was tugging at the rim of his hat, knowing full well that Flug was right and hating every moment of it.

“And I’ll curse you the entire time!”

“Please get some sleep, sir.”

“Fine. But only because I want to, not because you’re telling me to.”

“I know, sir.”

“I’m still the boss.”

“You are, sir. Goodnight.”

Black Hat turned over, nestling in, still shivering even in the mild weather. He felt something massive press upon him. Flug gasped gently. The sight was so cute that he had to stop himself from tearing up.

“Sir, 5.0.5 is… Sacrificing his body heat to keep you warm. That’s so--”

Flug then thought on the fact that that Black Hat was being warmed by a genetically modified Kodiak bear. 5.0.5 was three meters tall. 5.0.5 weighed one thousand two hundred pounds. 5.0.5 was sat atop Black Hat. He was broken from his thoughts by frantic, muffled screaming, and a flailing arm jutting out from 5.0.5’s bulk.

“Oh no, _off_ 5.0.5, _off_ , bad bear, _off!”_

 

* * *

 

 Flug was never a deep sleeper. His nervous temperament didn’t lend itself well to it. Even as he slept what can, could, and would go wrong would play in his mind like a showreel of horrors. Taking a test naked, falling down the stairs, crashing your plane and injuring yourself painfully.

“Help.”

Failure, rejection, the pressure of expectations.

_“Help.”_

Failure, failure, failure; undoing the only thing you’ve ever set out to do, not just moving the goalposts but sticking them on the moon.

“Dr Flug.”

Flug snapped up, blearily looking around as he registered what was going on. It was still dark. He looked to Black Hat, the blanket kicked off the bed. He lay still, his skin pallid.

“Finally. Something is wrong.”

“What is it, sir?”

“Undo my shirt. My chest feels wet. I can’t move.”

Flug, hesitant despite being given full permission, walked over and kneeled at the bed. With shaking hands he undid the shirt, his sleepy eyes absently noting how it clung to his wide chest and scolding himself for noticing such things at a time like this.

“Don’t worry, sir, I’m sure it’s-- _holy fucking Christ!”_

Black Hat’s chest was sunken, melting away to reveal pulsing, organs, sickly and grey, and nestled amongst them a vibrant, beating heart. His bones were white, thin and sharp, with a conventional rib cage that tapered off into dozens of thinner, smaller ribs along the spine to his tailbone, much like a snake, so fine and numerous as to appear vestigial. Black Hat lay there, looking upwards. His hands crossed patiently over his abdomen.

“I can’t bring myself to look; is it bad?”

“Not at all,” Flug lied, trying to compose himself and failing, “not at all-- it’s-- it’s just a mosquito bite, sir.”

“My organs are hanging out, aren’t they.”

“... Yes.”

“Oh. Goody. Pig carcass.”

“What?”

“A pig carcass,” Black Hat said calmly. “I need a pig carcass. Raw pork. Mince. Guts. Meat. Anything.”

“I… How much-- how much do you need to-- to--”

“About twenty, thirty pounds should be fine. Go wake Dementia. Hurry up.”

On cue, she stirred, slowly coming to amidst the ruckus.

“It is way too early in the morning for whatever this is…”

Dementia looked at Black Hat.

“Oh. This is the dying part, right.”

“It is.”

“Oh. Jesus. Um. Need any help?”

“Please.”

“We have to go get meat,” Flug blustered,”we-- we have to--”

“Stay here.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You can’t be trusted. I need someone here in case birds try to peck at me and you have adequate scarecrow proportions. Dementia is, somehow, more reliable than you.”

Dementia threw Flug a smug glance. After memorizing the quantity of meat required she clambered into the van and floored it, speeding off into the night. It was Flug, Black Hat and 5.0.5, who was trapped in a deep, dark sleep about twenty feet away.

“Does… Does it hurt?” Flug croaked.

“Yes, Flug. There’s a hole in my chest. I’m in agony.”

“Oh. Sorry. Just trying to make conversation, and… K-Keep you talking.”

Black Hat's expression softened not in affection but in gloom.

“It’s appreciated.”

“What is?”

“The conversation.”

Flug blinked, unnerved by Black Hat’s lack of bombast and the gravity of the illness. He laughed uneasily and grew uneasier still when Black Hat chuckled back weakly.

“You-- You really are ill, if you’re saying things like that to me.”

Black Hat’s voice was failing him, the prominent rasp in his voice masking his consonants. Flug had to brace his ear near Black Hat’s face to make him out.

“Flug?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’m freezing.”

“I’ll get the blanket--”

Black Hat stopped him with a weak hand motion.

“It will stick.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

He lay there, looking upwards at the lightening sky, the forest silent save for birds and the odd, wet noise coming from Black Hat’s chest.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t know what to do.”

Dr Flug looked to his gloved hands and, shaking, peeled away the latex to reveal scarred skin, mottled pink and white. Shaking, he pressed the back of his hand to Black Hat’s neck, allowing him to sap his body heat. His skin was smooth and cold, like leather. Black Hat sighed.

“Thank you.”

Flug had no idea what to say to this. Everything felt foggy, distant. Perhaps he was still dreaming. Sweeping hand gestures and dramatic chest clutching, this is how Flug thought Black Hat would handle such things, but he was just… Lying down. Pragmatically conserving his strength, no matter how feeble it made him appear. This wasn’t the resignation of a man lying down to die like a wounded animal, it was of a man well aware that despite his protesting that may well happen anyway so there was just no point in bluster. It was better to wait and if he died, he died, conserving and hoarding every drop of vitality. There was no energy to suppress or to mask. Black Hat was appreciative and Flug just had to… Sit there and deal with it. Seeing Black Hat, this great and terrible nightmare capable of tormenting him to no end popped open like a ripe fruit gave him a dark, sick thrill, igniting his sadism even as his stomach churned from worry. There was no cartoonish villainy, no extravagant cape flapping, no dynamism. A dying, cruel, vulnerable creature, peeled open in front of him. They stayed like that, Flug swapping the hand as he felt it grow chilly; left, then right, then left once again. Black Hat stopped talking, but Flug could see the rise and fall of his chest, the odd, arrhythmic wriggling of his pinched heart. Black Hat craned his neck when he could, death too real a prospect to allow even him his pride.

Flug whipped his hand away when he heard the van return, hastily pulling his gloves back on. Dementia barrelled out of it, the engine still running, clutching plastic bags.

“What's-- what do I--?”

Black Hat pointed to his chest. Dementia looked rattled, pushing Flug further into anxiety.

“S-Shove it in?”

Black Hat nodded. Before Flug could say anything about proper sterilization Dementia was tearing open packets with her teeth and slam-dunking the wads of meat into his chest hard enough to make his lungs jiggle. He winced, throwing her a glare. The meat sat atop his vitals like netting, still. Flug clutched his head.

“Oh my God, oh my God, it’s not working, oh my God--”

And on cue, in a universe that seemed to be devised entirely around making him look like a fool, the skin in Black Hat’s chest grew and stitched itself together unevenly, the processed meat within slowly sinking into his mass. The hole was gone and he sat up, shaking, sweating, clutching his chest as if having awoken from a nightmare.

“Took you fucking long enough!”

Dementia and Flug looked to one another, relief sweeping them. Dementia wiped her brow, too shaken to ask questions. Flug was still in the midst of shrieking terror.

“What was that?”

Black Hat caught his breath, unable to hide his shaking or his pin-prick pupils.

“I consume evil, but there’s not enough of it in the world to keep me going. I _am_ evil. My body started to eat itself. The meat will keep me alive, but not for long, it’s a temporary solution; I can use the very little magic I have to consume and regenerate, but... We need to get moving, tonight, within the hour. I thought I would have at least a month, a week--”

He looked harrowed. A creature that dealt entirely in fear partaking in his own product and hating every moment.

“Thank you, sir,” Flug said quietly.

“For what?”

“The appreciation.”

It was a flicker, a little dash from one end of his face to the other, but Flug saw it. Sheepishness. Dementia looked between them both, slowly. Flug didn’t want to think about the expression she was making.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Black Hat spat. “I don’t have the time to pander to your ego. A plan, a plan--”

He saw Dementia's shoulders relax. A look crossed Black Hat’s face, realization and reassuring, murderous glee. Flug chose to humour him, knowing full well that a plan had already been decided upon.

“What do you suggest, sir?”

“Why Flug,” he crooned, like honey down the throat, “do you still have that laser pen...?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flug is here for pragmatic friendships and black hat is not having it


	5. Child Beating Conventions Are Very Popular This Time Of Year

                                                                                                                                                          

 

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

“Flug, you absolute plum, of course this is going to work.”

Flug sighed, catching his lab coat on the thicket. Black Hat was next to him, sat comfortably on top of 5.0.5 like a sofa. They were at the roadside, where the dirt path converged with the concrete, still nestled in the woods. It was getting light and Flug judged it to be about six in the morning. Dementia was stood beside Flug, rubbing her hands eagerly. Together, they spotted it. A car. Black Hat shone the pen at the driver, aiming for his eyes. A woman stuck her head out of the window to yell at them as she sped by, mashing the horn.

“Fuck you!”

Black Hat yelled back.

“Fuck you!”

They vanished. Black Hat hemmed.

“We may need to change tactics. That’s the seventh.”

Flug cursed quietly to himself. Then, as if a gift from heaven sent to enable their idiocy, a bike appeared, winding towards them. Black Hat beamed, wide enough for his cheeks to dimple.

“What luck! Those crash themselves!”

He stood to attention, straightened his tie, leaned over dramatically and shone the little light directly into the driver’s eyes, the shock of them all appearing as if from nowhere too much for him to process. The bike careened, tipping over with a sickening crunch, the rider cast off as if discarded. He lay in a heap. Black Hat shivered. Flug found a thrill in watching the man twitch, deep and dark and twisted, because looking on meant he wasn't the one suffering.

“That’s the stuff,” Black Hat moaned. “Hop to it, vultures.”

Dementia got to work while Flug stood there, astonished, unable to wrap his head around Black Hat’s terrible plan working. Dementia skittered to the prone man, lying there and babbling in a half-unconscious panic. She rooted in his jacket and found his wallet, relieving him of his meagre funds.

“Who doesn’t carry a card? Urgh!”

Flug walked over slowly, too afraid of her to interrupt. She went to pop off his helmet.

“D-Do we have to,” Flug stuttered, “do we have to see his face?”

“Oh yeah,” she said, “if he’s got jewellery we can pick him clean.”

“I don’t… I don’t know if I can look at him. People start being people when you see their faces.”

What he had just enabled hit him, twisting his guts and making his already strained conscience churn.

“Oh, God.”

Dementia rolled her eyes, paying him no mind. She slid the helmet off, then moved his head, looking for any earrings. She failed to find any and, for her own amusement, slapped him and giggled. The man groaned.

“Evil isn’t all long coats and speeches,” said Black Hat, circling around the body slowly. “Look at him. Your pink slip will be the skin from your back as I tear it off and slap you across the face with it, you pasty miscreant. This is your job.”

“Please.”

“You owe me, Flug. More than you could ever repay. Look at him.”

“I don’t want to,” Flug said.

“I order you to look at him.”

Flug did. Though he was obscured by the shadow of a tree, Flug saw a mop of blonde hair and grey eyes, made clear by a prominent brow. A young man, no older than twenty-five. Black Hat looked at him, sensing an odd shift in atmosphere.

“You know him?”

“I… I don’t think so,” said Flug.

“Hm. Don’t go giving me speeches on how ‘killing is wrong’, you big hippy. I’m in no mood for your naysaying.”

“I’m not going to,” Flug said, “I think we should kill him.”

Black Hat unclasped his hands from behind his back, nearly stumbling.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He kind of looks like someone I didn’t… Get along with.”

Black Hat chuckled in disbelief.

“You’re happy to do this because he… _Resembles_ a bully you had years ago?”

“Yes.”

“Ha! That’s so excruciatingly pathetic! A wicked, weak little man! You really aren’t that much better, are you? Go on. My treat.”

Flug swelled with pride, tinged with disgust at his own deep, festering spite.

“What?”

“Go kill him.”

“I can’t.”

“And why not?”

“This is different from building those devices in the lab, sir. This is--”

“This is what?”

“This is something else, I can’t stomach the thought.”

“Just as I was mustering up some respect for you. Luckily for you we have a tactical half-wit we can unleash. Dementia!”

Dementia leapt to attention, nearly falling over. She saluted, again, for her own amusement.

“Ooh! Ooh! What’s the plan?”

“Drag him out to the middle of the road, then leave him there. Break a leg if you have to, don’t let him crawl away..”

“How will you know when he’s--?”

“Oh, I’ll know.”

Black Hat stood over the body of the stranger that had happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and looked the wrong way. He pressed a shoe to his neck and pushed in until he heard strangled noises. He eased off, then pressed in again, continuing this for a minute or two. Flug squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the noise, but he knew the expression Black Hat was wearing. He strangled with the satisfied glee of a boa cornering a rat. Pink foam dripped from the man’s lips, and his entire body twitched, every signal compelling Black Hat to press harder until he was caving in his gullet. Black Hat looked as if he was weighing up something, tilting his head back and forth. He looked at the space around them, checking for more cars. He sighed and mumbled to himself, the grin on his face no less vibrant for it.

“No time.”

He nodded. Dementia grabbed the man gracelessly by the calf and dragged him to the concrete. She picked a point just beyond the corner, hard to see and harder to avoid without another crash.

“Worth keeping the bike?”

“No,” Black Hat said, “too easy to track if we try to flog it. Leave it where it is.”

“Got it. Hey, I’d rather be dead than have that haircut,” she said, “so we’re doing him a solid.”

“It’s a shame it didn’t scalp him,” he replied, pampering her with attention as a reward for her fine work. Black Hat and Dementia shared a hearty laugh whilst Flug chuckled uneasily, his subdued conscience creeping back in with every passing second. He was leaving a man to die. He thought on it further. No, he wasn’t. He just happened to be walking in the opposite direction of a man that may or may not be dying, merely going about his business. He was just culpable enough for bad guy kudos, but not culpable enough to feel any real guilt, and in any case that may have in fact been the boy that teased him for his acne years ago which meant he deserved to be tortured and killed by some otherworldly terror.

Flug fell into self-loathing once again. He was the first to walk away, Black Hat following coolly and Dementia bounding behind. They followed the thin dirt path, that tapered off into heavier woods. Black Hat stopped, a grin smeared across his face.

“There he goes. You’ve bought me a day. Do you think he suffered?”

Dementia nodded. Flug pretended he had the luxury of being the cool, composed scientist doing what was necessary to keep Black Hat alive. Detached and distant, as if cutting into a pinned frog to examine its organs. He considered Dementia to be like a child finding one in the wild and tearing out the insides with her fists, rubbing the guts between her fingers.

“Probably,” she said, “people don’t go fast on that road, so he got flattened, but real slow.”

She mimicked a car going over a bump with her hands, going ‘da-dunk’ to imitate the impact.  

“Two days,” he said. Colour tinged his cheeks, and he walked without stumbling.

 

* * *

 

Flug knew he must have slept. He remembered stumbling back, wiping his eyes, walking to 5.0.5 and clambering on like a large bed, then he remembered being very still. But despite this, he felt no less tired. He groaned, pushing himself to his feet, rolling off the bear and hitting the ground with a hard thud.

“Morning,” said Black Hat.

“Morning,” Flug groaned. He remained on the grass until the night before merrily kicked its way back into his mind.

“We killed a man,” Flug said.

“A slow night indeed. But a start is a start, no matter how meagre. Written off as a tragic accident, I should think. Hit a tree in the early morning, crawled for help and wrestled with a car and lost.”

“We… We killed a man.”

“Truth be told, Dementia and I killed a man. You sort of hovered in the background, having flashbacks. You aren’t torn up over this, are you?”

Flug didn’t answer. Black Hat pinched the skin just above his nostrils, flaring them.

“Well, get used to it. You’re not locked in your lab now. Who knows, maybe he was on his way to a child beating convention and we’ve made the world a far better place. Focus on that, if it will make you stop whining. It had to be done.”

“Even when you… Pressed on his neck?”

“No, that was just for my own fun. It’s quite a thrill, you know. I’m surprised you passed it up! But no time to dwell on that. We have to get moving for today. I’ll rouse Dementia.”

Flug stretched, his back crunching. 5.0.5 awoke also, rubbing cutely at his eyes.

“She’s a heavy sleeper, boss.”

Black Hat chuckled.

“Why, Flug! You don’t get to my age without mastering the art of subtlety. I’ll wake her with nary a peep.”

He walked to where Dementia was sleeping, curled in her hair like a nest. He cleared his throat and kicked her repeatedly in the ribs. She scrambled up, fists raised, stumbling out of the open van and landing on her face.

“Wh-- Who’s--”

“It’s me, get up you layabout. We have work to do.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. She looked around, coming to herself.  

“Yeah, yeah. We got any food?”

“What about _my_ pistachios,” Flug grumbled.

“Oh, yeah, those. I think there’s some left. You want some?”

“You’re asking me if _I_ want some?”

“Yeah.”

“The thing I bought and hid in my room, and that you stole?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yes or no question, dude.”

Flug held his head in his hands and sighed.

“Give me some pistachios.”

“Sweet.”

She fetched the bag from the van, picking up any that had fallen in transit, picked up a fistful and threw them at Flug in bratty glee. She shook the bag at Black Hat.

“You want in on this, handsome?”

He shook his head.

“No point. I’d just be eating for the taste of it; that sort of thing doesn’t sustain me.”

“Oh?”

He looked wistful for a moment.

“Meat,” he said. “And with the way I’m feeling, heaps and heaps of it. As much flesh as we can fit. It’s not much, but if any of you find something scurrying about, throw it my way. Frogs, hedgehogs. I’ll take caterpillars if they’re fat enough.”

It didn’t take long for Flug and Dementia to polish off the bag, which didn’t do much to sate their hunger. Flug took this time to give 5.0.5 his medically mandated belly rubs, and reassurances that he was, indeed, a good boy, while Dementia itched and kicked her feet.

“I! Am! Starving! And that bozo we murdered didn’t have a lot of cash.”

Black Hat steepled his fingers.

“Do we have enough for a deck of cards?”

“Yeah… Why?”

He nodded sagely, smiling.

“We’ll eat today.”

 

* * *

 

Their journey back into the city demanded that Flug be at the wheel as he was capable of driving without growing bored and ploughing the van into a shop window. They wound, carefully, into the city centre, taking care not to attract any unwanted attention. Black Hat was restricted to the back again, Dementia in the front, absently flicking the glovebox with her fingers. She looked out of the window, finding everything was uncannily normal. Businessmen walking down the street, clutching coffee, families with children, the homeless and the destitute prostrating themselves for meagre pickings, and a lady pretending to be a statue on a street corner.

“This feels off,” she said.

“I know what you mean,” Flug said. “Everything feels still. Shouldn’t people be freaking out? What happened to all the orgies, anyway?”

Black Hat pondered.

“If experience has taught me anything; chafing. Now then. Let’s get to work, shall we?”

They pulled to a stop in an alleyway, hidden from view. Dementia played her part as instructed, returning ten minutes later with her dying phone and the cards. They all sat in the back.

“Got as many as I could,” she said.

“Excellent.”

Black Hat took the phone and began cycling through the pictures.

“Did you get front and profile?”

“When I could. Not much charge, so I had to wing it.”

“Hmm. Fair.”

He took his time, squinting and evaluating every specimen.

“Too big a forehead, next. His eyes are too close together. His eyes are too far apart, how did you take this without being seen? He’s like a hammerhead. This one, he’ll do. One of you, hold the phone in front of me.”

Flug took the phone, glancing at the picture before turning it to face Black Hat. A tall, thin man, drinking a coffee and reading a newspaper. His features were spindly and pointed, and his eyes sitting severely in his sockets. Black Hat steadied himself, placing his hands on his knees and looking forward.

“This is going to take a lot of out me and I won’t be able to keep this up for long, so it’s important we get this right.”

He swept his hand in front of his face, and just like that, he had assumed the man’s appearance. Black Hat felt his jaw, his nose, his distinctly human profile and shuddered.

“Let’s hurry this up. Does my face attract attention?”

“Um, a little. You haven’t blinked once.”

Black Hat blinked. He cracked his fingers, wiggling them, feeling the deck of cards in his front pocket.

“Let’s g--”

“You can’t change your voice?”

Black Hat looked gravely offended.

“What’s wrong with my voice?”

“Oh, I, nothing, it’s--”

“It’s what, Flug.”

“It’s… It’s very _distinctive._ ”

“It’s refined! It’s classy! It’s…”

Black Hat trailed off. He tapped his fingers to one another and looked away, for only a brief moment. Flug took in the breadth and depth of his expressions, unused to seeing him so emotionally naked.

“... It’s very hard to change…”

Dementia raised her hand.

“Yo! Hatty! That’s dumb. You just melted your face, changing your voice can’t be that tough.”

Black Hat flushed. Flug couldn’t help but think that even in the midst of the mess they were in, even after last night, even after killing a man, Black Hat looked painfully cute. So unused to human expression that he couldn’t temper it.

“Why, of course, why didn’t I think of that? Reach into your throat and rearrange your vocal chords without looking, will you? Just to remind me? It’s so easy.”

Dementia clasped her hands and gasped.

“Aww, oh my God, look at your cheeks! You’re embarrassed!”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are! You are, you’re as red as a tomato! Aw, did I hit a sore spot? I should bring it up more if you look as cute as this!”

Flug suppressed a titter. Black Hat threw him a look that, under normal circumstances, would have launched lasers from his eyes and obliterated Flug on an atomic level.

“Shapeshifting is a skill,” Black Hat said, his mouth contorted in a snarl and his cheeks burning, “and the outside is a lot easier than the inside, especially if I’m weakened. I cultivated my outer appearance and forms over many years and I… I liked to keep my voice because watching people realize who I was after I inevitably bested them gave me a thrill. It’s… A part of me. A little bit I can hold on to, no matter what I look like.”

“That’s oddly sentimental of you, boss,” Flug said. “I didn’t think you were the type.”

Black Hat blustered, now thoroughly mortified.

“It’s not sentimental; it’s pragmatic, you insolent little twerp.”

Dementia looked at Flug, chatting as if Black Hat was in the room over and not directly opposite.

“It’s kind of touching, ain’t it?”

“Yeah,” Flug admitted. “You’d think something like him would have no room for that kind of stuff.”

“I get what you mean.”

Black Hat buried his face in his hands, torn between wanting to roar at them and wanting to disappear completely. 5.0.5 pawed gently at him like a large, affectionate cat.

 _“I’m right here!_ And it’s not impossible, I just… Don’t think I can do it, right now… I’m already pushing my luck just changing my _face._ If I do more I’m worried I’ll... _”_

Black Hat trailed off. Dementia leaned forward.

_“Yes?”_

“I’m…”

Flug leaned forward also.

“Go on.”

“I’m worried I’ll faint. There. I said it.”   

Both of them, delighting in their teasing, nodded. Flug thought of this as payback for his awful working conditions in the mansion. They disembarked from the van, Dementia stretching her legs and Flug cooing at 5.0.5 and requesting he stay inside. Black Hat grunted.

“It’s about five minutes away--”

Something caught Black Hat’s eye as he looked up. He hurled himself back in the van and slammed the door. Dementia put her hand on Flug’s shoulder.

“Yo. You see that?”

She pointed skyward. There, unmistakably, was the silhouette of a man flying, cape fluttering behind him. He paused in the air for a few seconds, surveying, Flug guessed, and flew off. Both he and Dementia remained deathly still, her hand still pointing. They watched as he flew off in the other direction then, as quickly, vanished. They remained there for a few minutes before Flug let out a shaky sigh and knocked twice on the van door. Black Hat peeped his head out.

“... Is he gone?”

“Yes, sir. He went the other way.”

Black Hat wiped his brow.

“Fuck me sideways, that was close. Let’s get a move on.”

They moved, winding through quieter streets, attracting looks despite Black Hat’s disguise because it turns out wearing both a sandwich bag and a white tie suit is unusual. ‘Cosplay group’, was what Flug suggested before they embarked, should they be questioned. ‘Weeaboo,’ Dementia replied, before agreeing, to which Black Hat grumbled that they were both far too old for cartoons. They arrived in the shopping district, teeming with people, like maggots on an old steak. There was the food court. Flug squinted, all of them tucked in the nearby alley.

“This is weird. This is really, really weird.”

Dementia cocked a brow, resting on the wall.

“What is?”

“These people are still… Buying food? Wouldn’t world peace eliminate the need for money? Doesn’t that come with utopias?”

Black Hat held his chin. He went to speak, then decided against it. Something occurred to Flug.

“Wait, if the world is in such a good place now then people must be pretty kind at heart, right? Maybe we can use this to our advantage.”

“I’m all ears,” Black Hat said.

Flug spied a man sitting alone, eating, tapping at his phone. Flug took a deep breath, strode out with all the confidence in the world, faltered, scurried back, took several more deep breaths and started sweating through his bag. Black Hat pursed his lips, and now Flug could see his disappointment in entirety as he had a nose to wrinkle.

“Really, Flug?”

“I-- I have to build myself up to--”

“For the love of--”

Flug, riding a sudden and fleeting crest of self-belief, walked to the man. Black Hat could hear his voice crack.

“Hello, sir. Um, my-- my friends and I are hungry, and--”

“No.”

“Understandable, thank you for your time.”

Flug came back, shoulders slumped.

“It… It didn’t work.”

“Of course,” Black Hat said. “Dementia?”

With that, she vanished entirely. Black Hat squinted at her.

“Usually you’re crystal clear, but my senses have been dimmed since Flug ruined me. I can only just make you out, but that’s all I need.”

“Oh, you can make out with me alright,” she purred.

“Now you stop that. When you’re done pilfering, give me a hand signal.”

Black Hat scrunched up his face, but Flug couldn’t see what Dementia was doing.

“Not _that_ one,” he said, “control yourself! Not _that_ one either! Priorities, you technicolour trollop, priorities! Just give me a wave, we’ll move to phase two from there.”

Flug muttered, still embarrassed.

“I don’t think stealing at a food court is big enough for ‘phases’...”

“Oh, how you’ve gone and spoiled the occasion, this is absolutely how I saw myself spending the weekend! Being terminally ill and having to resort to petty crime merely to exist! Are you quite finished, Flug? Are you quite finished? Keep going, I’m sure there’s some thin vein of dignity left in me you can you can excavate, you’ve done such a fantastic job with the rest of them.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Black Hat rolled his eye, then set about finding their victim. He set to work his predatory instincts and, with a smile, pointed out their dumb cunts for the day.

A teenager, on the very cusp of manhood, with a girl. They were looking at one another sincerely, affectionately, with the soft ease that came with the first bloom of romantic love. They were holding hands over the table, sharing a drink with two straws. The sort of thing you did after watching too many films. Dementia cooed. Flug suppressed a little spike of envy at the two. Black Hat, as if he wasn’t ill at all, strode over and put on his best honeyed tone.

“You know, I was walking on by,” he said with the easy confidence of a man that knew what he was doing. “And I couldn’t help but notice the two of you. Dare I say… A first date?”

The boy stuttered, laughing.

“Y-Yes.”

“Ah, to be young and in love! You both look very happy. But don’t pay any mind to _me_ ; I don’t mean to intrude--”

“Not at all,” the girl said, the more confident of the two, tightening her grip on her beau.

“Well I, for one, am very happy for you! Normally I charge for my fine services, but for such a sweet young couple I believe I can make an exception! For I… Am a travelling magician! A thaumaturge of faces, should you want to get fancy.”

He launched a card effortlessly from the deck and caught it with the same ease to prove his point.

“Which I do.”

He spread the cards gracefully with a hand motion, looking away to allow the boy to pick. Flug noticed a slight rustle of the boy’s bag and assumed that was Dementia picking at his wallet.

“Any card, my fine fellow, any card at all! Remember, you mustn’t show me what it is!”

Flug watched the boy tap one of the cards, Black Hat, in response, pulled one from his deck and handed it over.  A Queen of Hearts.

“This isn’t my card,” the boy said.

“Oh, I know,” Black Hat said, calling on all his charisma. “It’s for you to give to her. Romance, sir! You can never go wrong with a little romance, can you? A placeholder to consider while I do my work. You’re welcome for that one; I’ve just saved you a couple of quid on flowers.”

He winked. The girl, completely enthralled, tittered as her admirer handed it over. They couldn’t believe their luck.

Flug watched Black Hat weave his words, spooling them like fine silk, watching as these two strangers clung to every single one until he had ensnared them. And Flug considered that even without the shapeshifting, or the unknowable horrors of his many forms, Black Hat was tremendously dangerous if he was given ample opportunity to talk. Flug wondered if this was an extension of his dark powers or, more mundanely, he was simply wielding a charisma Flug didn’t have. Flug, despite knowing what Black Hat was truly like, couldn’t help but be swept up in the prepossessing spectacle of it all. Black Hat continued his tricks, tossing, turning and weaving the cards as if they were an extra set of hands, drawing ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’. Black Hat glanced up and nodded, and Flug could only assume Dementia gave the signal.

Black Hat deftly shuffled the cards once again, made them hop and writhe with supernatural grace and precision until he had attracted the attention of nearly everyone nearby. He waved his hand delicately over the top card, gave it a gentle tap, then threw the deck into the boy’s eyes and socked the girl in the face with a truly devastating haymaker, knocking her flat.

_“Gut this shithole!”_

Tables flipped as an invisible Dementia was let loose, the crowds scrambled, people started screaming. Black Hat took this opportunity to grab any food that looked clean enough to foist on his assistants. Flug skittered back, tipped over the man that was rude to him, then ran away clutching two slices of pizza. When the place was in complete disarray, they fled to the van and left the city once again, Dementia taking the helm. Through reckless driving and some unbelievably dangerous turns, they were out. Black Hat motioned for them to pull over on the outskirts, near to a general store.

“How much did we get?”

“Hundreds,” Dementia said through a mouthful of hot dog. “Nearly a thousand. With the cards, way, way more.”

“Excellent. Tomorrow we’re booking rooms.”

Flug picked at his second-hand pizza.

“Is this not… Gross, to you?”

“The food? No,” she said. “It saves money. What diseases are we gonna get, anyway, it’s just food.”

“Herpes, for one thing.”

“Pfft, who hasn’t had some of that.”

Black Hat gave her a look, then took some of the money and shoved it into Flug’s hands.

“I hunger for flesh. Flug, it’s your turn.”

“Right. What should I get?”

“Whatever you can get the most of, though pork is my favourite. But anything will do for now; chicken, lamb, beef.”

“How much should I get?”

“About twenty pounds.”

“For when your chest opens up--”

“No, no, to eat. But get some for that, too.”

Flug gawked.

“You’re going to eat twenty pounds of meat in one sitting?”

“I need all the energy I can get. There’s a price to be paid for what I do.”

Flug, unwilling to protest, bit the bullet and gathered as much as he could. He could barely stand being at the counter in the first place, nevermind the looks the cashier gave him, but he did and returned with bags full of the stuff. Black Hat rubbed his hands and licked his lips. He tore his human face off, revealing his grey, reptilian scales once again. He sighed in comfort.

“Ah. Better.”

They drove back to camp, needing the seclusion. They gathered around the fire to eat, in far greater spirits than the night before. Black Hat choked his meal back with vile, slavering enthusiasm. Flug had a hard time looking, whilst Dementia took great delight in watching Black Hat enjoy himself. Dementia picked up a wad of pork, examined it curiously, then shoved it into her mouth. She chewed slowly, thinking, giving it a once-over. She nodded, as if considering a profound philosophical point in a lecture, then spat it into her hand and smoothed it back into the pile. Black Hat watched this unfold in its entirety. He laughed, loud and sincere, from the gut, then continued eating as if nothing had happened. Flug stared, unsure if he was dreaming.

“What did you think would happen?”

She swilled soda, trying to get the taste out of her mouth.

“He looked so into it,” she said, “I thought maybe he knew something we didn’t.”

When Flug looked back Black Hat was eating the wad Dementia had ‘regifted’, not caring. He offered the pack to her.

“Care for some more?”

She gagged at the thought. He laughed again, head back.

“The fact I let you take something that was mine should have been your first clue!”

“How come you treat her better than me?”

The laughter stopped, and they both looked at Flug, who could barely believe what he had just said. Black Hat’s tone was icy.

“Pardon?”

“Sorry. It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s clearly something. Go on, Flug, spill the beans.”

“I’m…”

He trailed off. Black Hat scowled, flicking his tongue.

“She’s the only one besides myself that does any work around here. You’re basically on the same level as the fucking bear. I’m not happy you’re here, either, but I need the manpower. Consider yourself the trellis, and we, the fruit-bearing plants.”

“You’re comparing me to… To sticks?”

“Sticks are probably more useful.”

Flug looked at his hands, at the dirt on his shoes, at the ebbing fire and deteriorating Black Hat, and wondered where the fuck his life had gone. This wasn’t what he was meant to be doing. He was meant to be building great and terrible devices, striking fear into the hearts of those who had wronged him, not stealing pizza and steering this cart of freaks. This wasn’t where his life was meant to go. He put his food down, stood up and started walking in the other direction.

“Whoa,” Dementia blustered, “whoa, whoa, where you going?”

Flug kept walking.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“You can’t just leave!”

He didn’t stop. He heard Black Hat give the order. Dementia leapt up and grabbed Flug's hands, shoving them behind his back and strong-arming him to Black Hat.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

Flug responded, his voice wavering, his boasts weak and desperate.

“You can’t treat me like this. I have a doctorate. I’m the best in my field. I don’t deserve this. We-- We killed a man, and he didn’t even--”

“Hypocrite. You want all the fun but can't bear to do any of the hard stuff. You wanted him to die because he looked like someone you hated, but couldn't do it yourself. You're pathetic.”

Flug looked away.

“That’s how it is, is it? You aren’t quite invested? Well, don’t worry. Dementia!”

She spoke up, tightening her grip on Flug’s wrists.

“Yeah?”

“If Dr Flug runs, or I happen to die as a result of this farce _he_ started,” he said, “I want you to track him down, torture and kill him.”

Flug felt her hesitate behind him.

“You want me to brain Flug? I mean… I dunno...”

Black Hat looked at Flug, sinister and darkly triumphant. He wore a smile that would have looked sincere on anyone else, stretching from cheek to cheek. He put on his honeyed tone again, drawing her in easily.

“Dementia, sweetheart, come here.”

“What?”

“Come here.”

She let Flug go, and he was too petrified to flee. Black Hat placed a cool palm on hers, patting it, just as the young couple had done. Flug watched, appalled. Black Hat’s manipulation was as effective as it was horrifyingly transparent. She knew, she must have, that he was pulling her strings for his own selfish ends. It didn’t take a psychic to know he wasn’t being sincere. And yet she looked wholly touched. Smitten. Because what, if by some slim chance, he wasn’t lying? This was a fight Flug could never win. Reason couldn’t be brought into it if she would merrily throw reason aside to gorge herself silly on hopes and fantasies. His learning, his books, his education, his keen scientific mind; none of it could compete with Black Hat wearing a gentle look like a cheap mask. He feared Dementia. He respected Dementia. And above all, above all of that, he pitied Dementia.

Black Hat sighed, as if dismal.

“Do you not care?”

Her voice was hushed as if it were just the two of them engaging in pillow talk after a long day. Dementia looked him in the eye, profound and entirely sincere.  

“Come on. You know I care.”

Black Hat was giving Flug smug little looks, a little flit of the eyes to and fro. He barely registered Dementia’s fixed gaze.

“Do you not care what happens to me?”

“Please don’t say things like that,” she murmured. She brought her palm to his cheek in comfort, and he allowed this. Flug could hardly believe he was being held hostage over something so obvious.

“He’s lying. He’s saying whatever you want to hear, please, please, Dementia. You can’t actually believe this.”

She looked at him, resignation scrawled across her face. Flug realized that, deep down, she probably didn’t, but that still wasn’t enough to sway her.

“I don’t want to die,” Flug whimpered.

Black Hat, in his fine suit, with his fine tie, in his fine shoes with his fine monocle, looked just as wretched. His voice cracked, not for Flug’s predicament, of course, but for his own. He played it off with a cough.

“Yes, well… Neither do I.”

Dementia tapped her fingers to one another. She went to speak, faltered, then found her nerve.

“I love you,” she confessed as if he didn’t know. Black Hat, satisfied with what he had extracted from her, didn’t respond.

They ate in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> black hat, world-renowned evil! stealing from food courts! tipping over bikes! literally admitting he's a shapeshifter to his victims through fruity words!


	6. Moon-Bases Are The Most Masturbatory Of All The Bases

                                                                                                                                                      

 

Black Hat walked off into the woods to relieve himself, leaving Flug, Dementia, 5.0.5 and the dwindling fire, as well as orders to keep Flug on a tight leash. When his silhouette vanished Flug scampered to Dementia, frantic.  

“He’s using you, you know. You have to see that.”

Dementia narrowed her eyes at him, her zeal ebbing away to something sharper. Flug clutched her shoulders and she slapped him off with ease.  

“I know I’ve said some… Not-so-nice stuff about your intelligence in the past,” he said, "but even _you--”_

The little patience she had broke. She shoved him back.

“I’m not an idiot! Don’t talk down to me.”

“Then you have to see what he’s doing! Dementia, please, we can get in the van and drive off, there’s nothing to stop--”

“He’ll die.”

“Then we’ll be free!”

She looked repulsed.

“You chose this,” she said. “You heard all the stories and you came to the mansion anyway. Same as me. You knew what you were getting into.”

“No, I didn’t! Not this! Not the stress, not the constant fear! I barely eat, if I don’t wear my gloves I bite my nails into the quick, I-I pick at my burn scars until they bleed, I can’t live like this!”

Dementia looked at him, her nose upturned. Considering. Toying. A cruel smile broke across her face.

“I could kill you right now, if you really wanted. If you said ‘please’.”

“God, no,” he begged, willing to prostrate himself at her feet, “please don’t do this, please!”

Dementia snorted, throwing her head back and slapping her knee. Flug clutched his chest, the inside of his goggles steaming from the sweat, his mouth as dry as the ground he was braced to.

“Lighten up, Jesus! You’re always so uptight! You can’t take a joke, dude, you gotta work on that.”

“It’s not funny.”

She beamed, some part of her somewhere else entirely.

“No, no, it’s OK! I think it is.”

Flug despaired. He didn’t know where to begin reasoning with her, but his urge to keep living demanded that he try.

“Dementia, he is a cold, calculating monster that lacks the capacity to even pretend to give a shit about us. He will take whatever he wants,” Flug said, “and throw us away when we aren’t useful.”

“I know,” Dementia sighed, “Isn’t it hot?”

“No, Dementia, it is not hot!”

“It’s pretty hot.”

“Fine, it is a little, but it’s driving me insane!”

Dementia cocked her head.

“What are you bitching about? What did you think would happen? He turned you away once, right? Then you ploughed the plane into the house. So you were determined to get in. You had your out all lined up! I’m amazed he didn’t kill you when you… What did you do, submit an application or something?”

“I drove to his house after I graduated,” Flug admitted, “rang the doorbell, then begged. He hit me with his cane until I left.”

Dementia let out a low whistle.

“Man, even I think that’s sad. One thing I can’t peg; why’d you come if you hate all this evil stuff so much? What’s in it for you?”

“I don’t hate evil, I… I dunno, I thought it was a good fit. Hurting people I don’t like, the thought…”

Dementia nodded, clicking her tongue.

“Ohh, you’re one of those guys, huh? Sadist?”

“Yeah.”

“Good choice, good choice. A classic.”

“Uh… Th-Thanks? I worked as hard as I could, got my PhD, graduated cum laude--”

Dementia tittered at the word ‘cum’. Flug ignored her.

“-- But I just didn’t know… What to do. I could build whatever I wanted, but I thought this stuff was like a trade, so I… Thought I’d become his apprentice, I guess?”

“Ha! That’s stupid.”

Flug agreed. Dementia braced her hand on her chin, smug. Flug caught sight of her toned muscles illuminated by the fire and shelved his plans to run.

“Oh! You wanted to go on an ego trip, right? You’d roll up, and he’d hate you at first, but then you’d wear him down until he had to acknowledge your genius?”

“Same as you,” he snapped, the stress getting to him.

“You really think that much of yourself, huh? Well, you know what I think? That you’re an egomaniac pretending to be ‘good-cop’ in a squad full of bad cops. You’re too soft to be evil but too fucked up to act like a normal person. You don’t fool me, and you don’t fool yourself, either. You want all the fear and the respect, but none of the dirty work. Have you ever even killed anyone? I’m not talking about that guy we left on the road, that doesn’t count ‘cause I did the legwork. And I’m not talking about the stuff that gets sold on the show since other people do that for you. I mean killing someone. With your hands. Stabbing, strangling, running them over, suplexing, whatever.”

Flug remained silent, his fists clenched. In her face he saw everyone that had ever tormented him, melding into one contemptuous glance, that set his cheeks aflame and brimmed his eyes with embarrassed tears. Dementia rolled her eyes.

 _“_ And you’ve been here for a year? _Ugh.”_

Flug, well used to this, choked back the tears. The bag made it easy to hide. 5.0.5 sensed his discomfort, arose from his slumber, padded over and fell asleep at Flug’s feet. His fur was soft and warm. Dementia never missed an opportunity to gloat.

“No wonder Black Hat is starting to finally get sweet on me! Calling me sweetheart, ah…”

She fanned her face, blushing.

“I guess _someone_ here has to get stuff done for him. And besides, _I_ love him, so I’m worth way more than you.”

Flug looked at 5.0.5, snoring and massive and painfully gentle, revelling in his love. That feeling couldn’t possibly be what she felt, it would be sick.

“How could you _possibly_ love that thing!”

Dementia looked at him, her brows knit, earnest in her confusion.

“What? How can you not?”

Flug looked at her, baffled. He ground his gloves into his palms until they squeaked, gritting his teeth.

“Failed experiment,” Flug mumbled.

“So is 5.0.5,” she said, hearing him, “but at least you treat him with some friggin’ respect. What, just ‘cause I’m out doing all the dirty work while you’re in the lab, you think you’re better than me? _Dr_ Flug?”

“I don’t.”

“You do. I see it. You think I can’t see your eyes behind the goggles, but I see ‘em! Loud and clear.”

She spat on the dirt like she was expressing venom, the long nights drawing bitterness out from beyond her passion.

“Just like everyone else.”

The atmosphere was tense, the fire crackling to their side. Flug didn’t argue anymore. She did have a point. She was a moron. But he wasn’t stupid enough to point that out when she could break his neck with her hands. He was stupid enough, however, to continue to try to reason with her.

“When he dies--”

Dementia tore forward, grabbing Flug by the shirt and smashing her forehead into his. The sandwich bag crinkled impotently, Flug’s head ringing from the impact.

“If! If, big, big difference, if!”

Flug quailed, holding his hands up.

“If, I’m sorry, if he dies… Would you actually kill me?”

Her teeth were squashed together. Her breaths were ragged, torn in her mouth.

“Yeah.”

“Even after living together? I know we’ve had our differences, but--”

“He told me to. I gotta do what he says. If I’m being real you really, really haven’t been helping your case. Insulting me. ‘Cause you’re so smart.”

Flug had to concede the point, perfectly willing to admit that he wasn’t very good with his words.

“But when-- if! If he dies, why? When he had his powers, I understood. He could do whatever horrible things he wanted and we couldn’t do anything to stop him, but now… What would you have to gain?”

“I love him.”

“That can’t be enough. It can’t be.”

“You don’t get it. You just don’t get it, dude. So stop trying.”

Both of them stopped, turning slowly when Black Hat cleared his throat.

“Now now Dementia, put him down. He’s going to be a good boy and do as he’s told. Right, Flug?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, meekly. Dementia dropped him to the ground with a thud, walking to Black Hat, her voice warm and soothing.

“You OK, honey?”

“No. On the walk back I had to stop to vomit twice. I nearly fell over, my head was spinning.”

Dementia gasped, her hand braced to her mouth.

“Oh my God, you were away for so long. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Pay better attention next time.”

“I will, I will. If something happened, I don’t… Look--”

Dementia grabbed him gently by his wrists. Black Hat sneered.

“Don’t touch me.”

She remained there, still. She dropped his hands, stormed to the van, threw herself in and slammed the door shut. Black Hat sighed, glad to be rid of her. Flug took this opportunity to creep away--

“Going somewhere, Dr Flug?”

Flug’s soul sank.

“Yeah.”

“And where is that?”

“I, um, h-have to use the bathroom, sir.”

Black Hat looked him up and down, finding this to be a reasonable excuse.

“Don’t take too long,” he hectored, “I’ll miss you. I’ll miss you so much that I might be forced to drag you back kicking and screaming if you take too long.”

“Right,” Flug sulked, “of course.”

He walked off into the cool woods, fear simmering in his chest. He could sprint. Black Hat wouldn’t be able to catch him. Dementia…

Flug sighed. Dementia would. It wasn’t worth it. Flug looked back to camp, far enough away to allow him some privacy, but near enough to throw a warm glow against the trees. He saw 5.0.5, sleeping soundly even as Black Hat poked him with a stick.

He couldn’t run if it meant leaving 5.0.5. Flug found an adequate place and took the most depressed piss of his life, which was a stunning achievement. He considered methods of distraction. Perhaps he could throw some sand in Dementia’s eyes, push Black Hat over and ride 5.0.5 away into the dawn. No, that wouldn’t work, Dementia would swing at him blind and break all of his ribs in one wet crunch. Maybe he could challenge Black Hat to an honourable duel for his freedom, that-- no, no, Black Hat would punch him in the balls and laugh. Running was his best option, even if extended periods of it set off his asthma worse than a fire in an asbestos factory. But he couldn’t do it. Leaving 5.0.5 to them was too grim a prospect.

Flug zipped up his fly, bemoaned his lack of hand sanitizer, and walked back to camp. Black Hat was still poking 5.0.5, now with the sharper end of the found stick.

“Stop that,” Flug said.

“Why?”

Flug looked at 5.0.5. He was sleeping soundly, so it wasn’t worth pressing, but he felt his blood boil. Black Hat put the stick down, sat on the waterbed.

“Would you say you’re loyal to me, Flug?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How loyal, exactly?”

“As loyal as I can be, sir.”

“Ah. Very good. It’s a shame that’s worth nothing-- I heard you conspiring with Dementia to abandon me in the woods to die a slow, painful death. Or try to, at least.”

Flug’s breathing stopped, his heart quickened. His soul was aflame with panic. He was rooted to the log he was sat on, staring forward.

“I didn’t stop to vomit, or anything like that,” Black Hat said in the same genial tone, “I returned and found a nice, comfy tree to rest against whilst you two bickered. But I’m glad I said I did. It let me goad Dementia into a huff for the night, and I felt like we needed privacy.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

Black Hat laughed as if Flug had said something very witty.

“For that? No. Walking off when I was here, that was stupid, but you actually displayed a bit of cunning there. It didn’t work, but you tried. I’m not taking back my little sword of Damocles, if you do _successfully_ betray me I will set Dementia on you like a bulldog on a kitten, and I will make it hurt. But as odd as it seems, I’m actually quite pleased you tried. There’s a little spine in there, you’re not all craven. And I’ve been thinking because someone in this party of morons has to; if you’re operating on fear and fear alone you’ll burn out. It’s already started. You would be more inclined to kill yourself than me. And quite frankly I can’t risk that manpower. You’re the curious sort, aren’t you? Graduated… What was it again?”

“C-Cum laude, sir.”

Black Hat laughed at the word ‘cum’. Flug despaired.

”Very impressive. So what I think you need,” Black Hat said, “is an incentive. Dementia, well, she’s easily pleased, but you… What could I give you?”

Flug blinked, still expecting to be cut down at any moment.

“... M-Money?”

“Oh, there’ll be money. For both of you, heaps of it. But you’re used to money, aren’t you? How are your parents these days?”

Flug stayed very quiet. Black Hat chuckled at his discomfort.

“Trinkets and shiny baubles don’t hold the same aspirational weight for you. It’s not a good carrot on a stick. Hmm. Hmm-hmm-hmm. You’ve got me in a very rare bind indeed. What is it that you want? At the end. What’s your carrot?”

“I’d… Like to go.”

“Something reasonable, Flug.”

Flug thought, tapping his fingers to one another. One of the most powerful things to ever live was offering him whatever he wanted, but his head was rattling too much to truly consider it. Black Hat looked at him mischievously, an idea springing to mind.

“Let me pick for you. You get me out of this,” Black Hat said, eye gleaming, “and I’ll tell you what I am.”

Flug jolted, nearly falling backwards.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would,” Black Hat crooned. “Why, I’d even let you write it all down. You’d kill to know.”  

“You won’t,” Flug said, “you admitted that you lie.”

“Oh, I absolutely do. I can’t begrudge you for not believing me. I wouldn’t believe me. But this is worth my life. Besides, don’t you want to find out? People have tried to find out before! Pouring over old books, listening to older whispers, hearing things they shouldn’t. Arrogant academics lured in with promises of fame and understanding. But not once have I ever come out with it. For my life,” he said, “I will tell you what I am. I’ll lay myself bare, and you can fatten yourself on my innards until your heart’s content. Pick at my brain like a vulture. On one condition.”

Flug, gripped in hopelessness and painfully, painfully curious, was forced to hear him out.

“Go on.”

“You will tell nobody else. From the day it happens to the day you die. Not a peep. And we’ll only ever talk about it once, and never again. If you bring it up, I’ll play ignorant.”

Flug looked at his knees. Freedom, or one fact, one tiny, insignificant fact in the grand scheme of things, one tiny insignificant fact that only _he_ would be privy to! Him! Flug Slys! He had to say yes, but the word caught in his throat, he’d give up his freedom and more just to _know_ , just to sleep at night. Black Hat sidled up to him, the seductor that he was, his voice mellow and oddly soothing.

“There will be no speculation, no staying up at night and pacing, you’ll hear it right from me. Tell me, Flug, isn’t that a tantalizing offer? For my continued existence, I’ll part with a secret or two. The curiosity, it’s driving you mad, isn’t it? Don’t you want to know?”

Flug looked at Black Hat, expecting to meet the dark gaze of a swaggering beast, rambling on about his own mystique. Instead, he looked into the eye of an ill man, pleading for his life with the only thing he had left to offer; his guts. A spoiled, childish man, used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted and how he wanted it. Black Hat’s mind wasn’t equipped to handle something as sickeningly mundane as impermanence, acting as Flug’s would when exposed to the unearthly shapes Black Hat would make in anger. Black Hat looked like he was going to cry, but suppressed it quickly, speaking as an elegant gentleman extending an elegant offer. Hiding his desperation. And failing.

“Don’t you want to know, Flug? You must want to know.”

Flug, human and tender, reached out and put his hand on Black Hat’s shoulder. Black Hat sat there, struggling to process it, his face sallow and blank. He snarled, slapping it away and moving back, his poise breaking.

“Fine! Fine, then, die when I’m done with you! Die, see if I care, I give you a chance out of pity and this is how you repay me, fine! I’m--”

“Sir?”

“Here I am, offering you charity! No more, Dementia will pick up your slack.”

“It’s… It’s OK to be upset, sir. I’d be upset.”

“I’m not upset! I don’t get upset, I’m Black Hat.”

“You should be upset. You’re dying, boss.”

Black Hat looked at Flug. He went to say something, failed, tried again, then held his head in his hands and let out a long, long sigh. They sat there in silence, Flug unsure of how to break it, and Black Hat wallowing in his grief. Flug took to drawing patterns in 5.0.5’s fur to pass the minutes between them, until Black Hat peeled his face from his hands. His voice was quieter, hoarser still.

“A complete cessation of existence. Gone. The door, shut. That’s it, end of, no more for you, life over. How do you… Deal with it?”

Flug looked up.

“With death?”

“No, with burning your roast-- with death, Flug, keep up!”

Flug flinched but gathered his nerves.

“Um, I… Haven’t, really, I guess. I’m still young. I never gave it much thought.”

“Now we both know that’s a lie. You overthink burning your toast. I refuse to believe you don’t obsess over it. So. Go on then. Spill the philosophical beans. Fix this. Make me feel as healthy as I did last week.”

Flug, confronted with one of the greatest metaphysical quandaries in existence and tasked with solving it entirely in three seconds, shrugged.

“I can’t do that, sir. I’m only human.”

“And I’m something better, so surely there’s some sort of… Better answer for me? There must be? I can’t just be expected to deal with this awful dread the entire time, can I?”

“Yeah,” Flug said. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s… Horrifying. This is horrifying. I thought people were always, you know, playing it up. In books and plays. But this is terrible. No wonder you all complain so much. It’s just as awful as you all say.”

Flug scuffed his sneakers against the hard dirt. He desperately craved a shower, wanted to blister his skin off again, like the fire had.

“You don’t… Believe there’s anything after--?”

Black Hat laughed wildly, deranged.

“Of course there isn’t! And if there is, it’s not for things like me, I don’t want to even consider the prospect of an afterlife because we both know I won’t be getting the cherubs and honey one, will I? You’re worse than Dementia, honestly! This is the only chance I’ll ever get, and if I win, I win, if I don’t, I--”

Black Hat held his head in his hands again. It had taken a few days, but it had sunk in.

Death clears a comfortable space for itself in the mind and creeps in over hours, days, months, until the holdings are fit to burst, then edges in further still, moving in mundanity and manifesting whenever it happened to feel like it. A dawning, inevitable comprehension you think you understand until you don’t. Black Hat knew death. Had extracted it, played with it, spent many a merry night with it, but not once had he ever understood it. And now he did, the thin veil peeled for him to observe in trembling, clamorous horror. Knowing what it meant to die, but not to be dead. His shoulders shook, his pupil barely-there. Flug reached out tentatively, holding his hand there just as he had before, and found he wasn’t rebuked this time. Palliative comfort for something that really didn’t deserve it. The most human part of Flug saw fit to soothe a dying man. The part that wasn’t marvelled at the cracks being driven into what he thought was an indomitable force. A force that, much like Flug, like Dementia, like all of them, could die someday. Suddenly, and in indignity.

It fascinated him.

“Terrified,” Black Hat croaked. “I’m terrified, Flug. I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know where to begin. What do I do? What should I do?”

Flug continued rubbing. He squeezed firmly, twice, unsure if he was helping or making Black Hat feel worse.

“I don’t… I don’t really know. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t know what to say anyway, but I don’t even know what you are, or how this works for you, or...”

He trailed off. Even the most socially adept struggled with comfort, and Flug was not that.

“You won’t just… Leave me in a ditch somewhere? If I go out, I don’t want it to be in a ditch.”

“No ditches, sir.”

“... Not in a public toilet, or anything like that?”

“Or there, sir.”

“Good. Good, that’s a wastrel’s death.”

Flug heard a noise. A familiar, wet little noise.

“Are you crying, s-sir?”

“Of course I am, Flug,” he spat, pressing his palm to his eye. “Idiot.”

“O-Oh.”

Flug continued. Black Hat’s body was freezing cold, even in his healthier state.

“... Is this helping? The shoulder.”

“As much I hate to admit it,” Black Hat grumbled, “yes. A little.”

Flug, invigorated, went to pull Black Hat into a comforting hug. Black Hat stopped crying long enough to shove him off and shout at him, which was a success in and of itself.

“Don’t bloody push it!”

“Of course, sorry.”

“You should be!”

Black Hat’s rage fizzled away to morose rumination once again, the change so stark that it worried Flug.

“All the luxury in the world,” Black Hat mumbled, looking forward. “all the base desires I could ever indulge and I almost forgot fear. I almost forgot fear. As far as lizard-brains went I tried to have my cake and fuck it, too. No more.”

The light returned to his eyes as he thought about how great and sexy he was, and how terrible everyone else was compared to him.  Flug felt a ramble coming on but was willing to listen out of pity.

“Oh,” Black Hat sighed, “oh, the luxury. The finest meals cooked by the most exquisite chefs, fine brandy--”

He groaned, throwing up his arms.

“-- The brandy, I miss it! Champagne and brandy, lashings of the stuff! My fine art, the statues, the paintings…”

“Kind of tacky,” Flug mumbled. Black Hat clutched his chest as if shot.

“Tacky! It’s not tacky! Things like that are only tacky if poor people do them. Once you’re hideously wealthy it’s chic _._ Not that you would know anything about chic, of course. Fine art, fine music, fine lovers--!”

He laughed desperately, salaciously.

“Have you ever been to an orgy, Flug? Not some cobbled-together travesty at your old university with any old reject. The real deal.”

Flug stammered, bright red.

“That’s-- That’s a very personal question, sir--”

“Why am I even asking, I know the answer. But the thrill of it, Flug! The parties I’ve thrown, the decadence! Thirty supermodels with cunts like vices, all of us coked out of our minds! We’d buy tigers and make them fight each other!”

Flug winced at the vulgarity, but Black Hat pressed on, looking healthier.

“I was lavished-- spoiled-- and sometimes I couldn’t move for a week after! Evil for evil’s sake, that’s lovely, I’m more than happy to admit, but the indulgences that come with doing whatever you feel like? I never once complained!”

Black Hat looked around as if they were being listened to. Rock music thundered from the van, like the vehicle itself was screaming, whilst 5.0.5 snored gently. It was just them and the trees.

“Want to know a secret, Flug? A trick of the trade?”

Flug nodded, always ready to learn.

“The big gestures,” said Black Hat, “hostages, or moon-bases, or whatever is in vogue, those aren’t the real evil. Those are ego-stroking. Even my show, my business. Fun. But masturbatory. Real evil is very mundane, Slys, and very effective. Dull, but shiny. Do you remember those exquisite meals I mentioned?”

“I do, sir.”

“The finest, most difficult to acquire ingredients, prepared by the most skilled hands available. I would account for guests. If I was entertaining four fine malefactors,” he said, “I would demand food for forty. For five, fifty. For six, one hundred.”

“One hundred?”

“If that many people were eating at my home I was trying to shame them for their lack of status. We would feast, vomit, feast again and throw away what was left. In front of the staff. Sometimes I made them do it, destroy it. All because I like to eat. But I don’t have to eat anything, other than the meat. I like tasting things. Evil is excess and excess, Flug, is depraved.”

Flug nearly choked on his envy, taking in every word as an apprentice would. Black Hat sighed wistfully, revelling in the nostalgia. Of simpler, happier times. When he could twirl his moustache and kick people into pits of alligators, free from any thoughts of impending doom or looming existential crises.

“But look at me getting nostalgic,” he said with an uncharacteristic warmth. “This was before your time.”

Black Hat tapped his chin.

“When were you born?”

“Eighty-nine, sir.”

“Same decade, at least. A lot happens in the eighties, no matter the century.”

He looked fond. Wistful.

“Have you ever heard of Whitechapel, Flug?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

Black Hat chuckled slyly.

“Nineteenth century. A fun few years for me. Hmm. Remind me to tell you about that one, it was a bit of gap year for me. Well, a gap decade. They may as well be the same thing.”

“I-I will, sir.”

“Good.

Flug sat there. It occurred to him that Black Hat had already decided that he was going to stay, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He was stuck with a slimy narcissist out to save his own skin. But Flug, at least, could hope to extract something out of all of this, even if his own death loomed not too far behind Black Hat’s.

Flug, at least, could adequately comprehend his potential fate.

“Sir?”

“What?”

“I’ll do it.”

Black Hat looked at him slyly. As much as Black Hat liked to pretend he was a master of himself, Flug suspected that most of the terror was genuine. And in any case, Flug’s terror, and his pity, were very real.

“Of course you will,” Black Hat said, with the same look he had given Dementia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoho this took TOO LONG and i APOLOGIZE PROFUSELY. i got sidetracked with a lizardhat thing (which you can find on my profile! ;3c) and then some quite unpleasant irl stuff happened and so on, you know the drill, but i am back and this is being updated!
> 
> thank you for your continued support, and your patience!


	7. There's Nothing That Can't Be Made Better By Adding Snakes To It

                                                                                                                                     

 

The morning was foggy. Damp. Rain would come later, they suspected, but with some cash in their coffers, a warm room and a shower were only a day away.

They all sat in the back of the van, looking out at the woods. Dementia, privy to this part of town, mentioned a nearby hotel that was small, comfy and quiet, having stayed there as a child with her parents. Black Hat pointed out that ‘warm, cosy and quiet’ would probably cost too much, so she mentioned the other one she knew of that was infamous for its sewage problem. They would book two rooms under the guise of tourists, a double room and a single room. Flug and Dementia would alternate between the single room, sleeping beside Black Hat for a night, swapping over to allow themselves some privacy, then swapping back the day after. Dementia cooed over the prospect of snuggling up to him. Black Hat scrunched his face up.

“It’s pragmatic. That night, when my chest caved, I was lucky Flug heard me. I’m not happy about this, but if one of you is asleep and I’m too feeble to speak, I’m dead. But if you’re a foot away I have a decent chance of reaching out and being noticed.”

“I can sleep beside you all the time,” she said, “I’d be happy to. Flug can take the single room.”

“I want to retain my sanity, so no.”

Flug agreed, seeing the logic, even if the prospect of sleeping beside someone made his stomach flutter.

“Shouldn’t we get a single room, sir? It will be cheaper.”

Black Hat grunted. He had been mulling on it and Flug made a good point.

“If we’re all under each other’s feet, we’ll go mad. We’ll all get some privacy this way. I’m willing to pay a little extra if it means we won’t tear each other’s throats out.”

Flug nodded. With Dementia’s powers, hitting large crowds for more money was always on the cards.

“In any case, we need to get our stories straight. We can’t just waltz up to the front desk as we are. I’ll…”

Black Hat sighed. His palms were stiffened, rubbing against one another, and Flug saw the rawness peer through from the night before. He had to resist the urge to comfort him.

Dementia gave Black Hat a look of empathy and a pat of the knee, which he accepted. Flug’s blood boiled, but he said nothing.

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” Black Hat admitted. “I don’t have it in me for another skinwalk, not unless we stumble on some poor idiot I can harvest to keep myself going. You two, you’ll need disguises, false names. I’m sure there’s some bargain-bin shop around here we can pick through. We can slap something together.”

“Yeah,” Dementia said, “ratty thrift store near here. Smells like old people in there.”

“I’d be right at home,” mumbled Black Hat. Flug looked at him, his concern growing. Black Hat stood up. He surveyed the forest in portentous dignity, knowing he might never live to see it again. Looming, dark spires that peered back at him from the fog, cold and unrelenting. He took a deep breath, walking towards the van. Dour, as if leading his own cortège.  

A bird shat on his jacket.  

Black Hat cursed loudly, distraught. He reared his leg back and kicked 5.0.5 as hard as he could in the stomach, drawing a loud yelp, desperate to inflict hurt on something else. Flug leapt to his feet and slapped Black Hat across the face, clamping his hands to his mouth when he realized what he had done. Black Hat reeled, holding his cheek and looking up from the brim of his hat.

“Dementia. Punish him.”

Dementia, too, slapped Black Hat across the face, spying an opportunity.

“You kicked me in the ribs! I didn’t forget!”

5.0.5, caving to peer pressure, slapped Black Hat across the face. He looked at them all, back and forth, and then once again. He slowly climbed into the back of the van and pulled the door shut, leaving them all outside. Flug heard noises. Weeping. Dementia went to tear the van door off but Flug begged her to reconsider.

“Sir… Are you OK?”

“No.”

“Do you want to come out of the van? We can… We can talk about it.”

Black Hat’s speech was muffled. Flug suspected he had his knees tucked to his face.

“No.”

Dementia scrabbled around camp. She returned after scanning the rocks, attempting to bribe him with food.

“Do you want some caterpillars?”

It took a moment to answer, but he did.

“... What kind?”

“Uh… They’re green, with little black bits on them.”

“No. Those sound bitter. I don’t want them.”

“Alright,” Dementia soothed, handing off the grubs to an unwilling Flug. “It’s OK. Take your time. I’m sorry for hitting you. I know you were waking me up when you kicked me in the ribs as hard as you could. You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Hatty. I’m so sorry. I’m a moron, remember? I’m a big idiot, I’m nothing compared to you.”

Dementia, without looking, grabbed Flug by the arm and twisted it up his back.

“Flug’s sorry, too.”

“I am,” he pleaded, in agony, “I am, I’m sorry, please let me go!”

She did. Flug nursed his arm, feeling where the bruises would form, cowing away from her. She resumed her cooing, her rage abated.

“You wanna come out?”

“No,” Black Hat sulked, “I don’t. I’m in a huff.”

Something very weird was happening in front of Flug. It reminded him of a babysitter placating a child, voice and all. His discomfort was palpable, made worse by Dementia’s obliviousness.

“That’s fine. You wanna talk, Hatty?”

“... I don’t know.”

5.0.5 padded over, sitting dopily at Flug’s feet. The blow had shocked, but not injured him. Black Hat lacked the strength. Flug stroked him by the ear in the way that made his foot twitch, murmuring a ‘sorry’. Black Hat spoke up, quiet and bitter.

“I was on top of the world last week. I had a business. A lovely home. A nice bath. All the fame and money I could ever want. Now I’m being beaten by my own assistants like the feeble old man I am. This is pathetic. I’m pathetic. If this is how it’s going to go, why even bother. Why not cut short this charade and spare me the little dignity I have left. Fine, then. Leave me. Drive off, let my body cave in and be done with it.”

Flug and Dementia looked at one another, worried.

“We’re not gonna do that.”

“I’m starting to think you should.”

Dementia smacked her palm on the van’s door, rattling it and startling them all.

“You can’t lose hope, Black Hat. You can’t just… Stop. You can’t run out of steam. You’re scaring me.”

“At least I can still scare someone. At least I can do something right.”

“You’re not seriously thinking about killing--”

“I don’t know! I admit it, I don’t know! But that’s what ‘taking my life’ entails, Dementia. The assumption is that I die. The full phrase isn’t ‘taking my life for a fine picnic and a glass of wine in the meadow, perhaps with an assortment of fancy cheeses’. I just…”

Black Hat sighed.

“Ignore me. I’m rambling on.”

Flug, not equipped to handle an unexpected phone call nevermind a ceaseless horror’s increasingly muddled view of his own age, thought. He recalled a chapter in a self-help book he purchased back at the mansion, trying to quote it as best he could.

“The most important thing,” said Flug, trying to sound authoritative, “is to know that you can talk to us--”

“Talk, talk, I’m sick of talking, talking and talking, we’ve had days of it! Days, and I feel no better, I feel myself getting ill again!”

“I know. But being pessimistic won’t help.”

“Why thank you, Flug, you crispy beacon of mental health, I suddenly feel fantastic.”

Flug rolled his eyes, such comments losing their sting months ago. Dementia spoke up, causing Flug to do a double take.

“That’s not fair,” she said. “As crispy as he is, he’s trying to make you feel better.”

Black Hat responded, his voice muffled.

“I absolutely refuse to take advice on this topic from a woman named _Dementia!_ In fact, I refuse to take advice at all; I’m fine and everything is spiffy. Stop pestering me. _”_

“Then come out of the van,” Flug pleaded.

“... No.”

Flug frantically recalled another chapter, from an entirely different self-help book. The one Dementia liked to chew on.

“We need to set reasonable, attainable goals, sir. ‘Conquer the world’ is too big to conceptualize. But little steps will add up. You need something to focus on while we work, a... A-- A pet project, even. Do you remember the little things you liked to do? Composing, dancing, writing sexually explicit letters to news organizations you didn’t like. You need something to keep you going, sir. Something to look forward to. I can read to pass the time,” Flug said, “Dementia can play her guitar and 5.0.5 can… Get ear scratches. The point being, you can’t think so big. You’ll despair. You’re doing it right now.”

“... A pet project?”

“Yes.”

Black Hat chuckled glumly.

“How juvenile…”

“Can you think of anything? Something you want to do. It doesn’t have to be ‘conquering the world’. Anything.”

It was still around them. Flug worried Black Hat was going to shut down entirely, but to his surprise, he spoke.

“I’d… I’d like to play my violin, or… Or paint. I’m an accomplished painter, you know. The pictures hanging in the entranceway, I did all the ones on the north wall.”

Flug blinked, sincerely impressed.

“All of them?”

“All of them. I’d like to learn another instrument. I never did learn the flute. Too busy.”

“I’ve never heard you play the violin, sir.”

“It was something I did for myself. You could hear the organ down the street, but the violin was just for me. It’s important to have something like that.”

“We could steal one,” Dementia enthused, “we could steal one, and you could play for us! I’ve always wanted to hear you play.”

“That… That’s not a terrible idea.”

Black Hat gasped.

“Snake keeping,” he effused, his voice warm and sincere, “I would love to get back into snake keeping. Darling animals! Something I’ve never kept before. A black mamba, or a bush viper. But it’s--”

His voice wavered. His self-defeating apathy made way for pain. Sincere, gut-wrenching pain.

“It’s too soon,” he said. “I would need to build up to it.”

“Lil’ Jack died months ago, sir. By the time we’re done, maybe you’ll--”

“It’s too soon,” he repeated, hoarse.

Flug and Dementia remembered. They never saw the snake, he lived in a terrarium in Black Hat’s room, kept as a spoiled pet to dote on. But when the inevitable occurred the show, that week, was cancelled, as was the one after, and the one after that. It resulted in the only break Flug was ever allowed, Black Hat too distraught to force him to work. Flug gripped 5.0.5 firmly, met with an affectionate lick of the glove. Dementia scratched her neck, sympathetic, but curious.

“What did he--”

“Age,” said Black Hat plainly. “He was an old animal. He died. Like all old animals do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry does nothing. Since this all started I’ve been... Turning it over in my mind. You both think I’m being ridiculous, don’t you? ‘Just a snake’. Go on. Say it.”

“No, Hatty,” Dementia soothed, “no, not at all.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

Dementia smacked the side of the van again, startling them once more.

“Stop doing that you moron,” shouted Black Hat, “I feel like I’m in a tumble dryer!”

“You’re the most famous villain ever! You can’t do this to yourself.”

“And why the fuck not.”

“Because you’re Black Hat! You’re not some two-bit mugger in an alley somewhere, you’re the guy he reports to! To get dumped into a pit of spikes!”

“Not anymore, I’m not.”

 _“Spikes, Black Hat!_ You’re gonna look mother nature in the eye and... Break her ribs. With a hammer. You don’t have to listen to that lady! She sounds like a huge bitch! She makes hamsters eat their kids and my boobs hurt once a month, fuck her!”

“All things wither and die, Dementia. I was a fool to think otherwise. It’s the cost of living, paid in full.”

 _“Most_ things. One day I’ll go, and Flug, and everyone else on this dumb rock. But not you.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause you’re an abomination. A mistake. You’re a cancer.”

“Dementia,” Flug hissed, “he’s already upset, don’t--”

“Shut up,” she hissed back, “work with me.”

It was quiet. Black Hat’s voice was faint. Hopeful.

“... Really?”

Dementia looked at Flug, vindicated.

“Think of all the people that will cheer when you’re dead. All the parties, and stuff. It would be a national holiday. Especially now, since everyone is hugging each other, all that shit… D’you want to give them the satisfaction?”

“No,” he spat. “No. I’ll kick my way out of hell. There will be no days off in my name.”

“So are you gonna sit in this van and wait until you die,” she said, “or are you gonna get out there and ruin some lives. I mean, you’re not dead yet.”

Black Hat considered this.

“Out of all the things to make me feel better,” Black Hat sulked, “it had to be you. _Urgh.”_

“You’re not dead yet,” she repeated.

“I’m not dead yet,” he echoed back.

Flug meekly spoke up.

“Will you apologize for hitting 5.0.5?”

“No. He deserved it.”

“If we all keep hitting one another we’ll get nothing done, sir.”

Black Hat let out a groan of anguish.

“I’m…”

Black Hat mumbled something. Flug suspected it wasn’t an apology but took it anyway.

“Will you come out of the van?”

“... Soon.”

Flug rapped gently at the door, thinking of something.

“Sir?”

“What do you want?”

“If you die,” Flug said quietly, “you won’t be able to punish the world for what it’s putting you through.”

Black Hat threw open the van door, wild and vindictive, every movement a triumph. His mind swirled with plans, and his heart with contempt. He leaned out, looming above them both.

“You! Dementia!”

She lit up, her worries eased.

“Yeah?”

“Cut your hair. Take out your piercings and forgo any makeup until we refuck society.”

Dementia grabbed her mane, distraught.

“No!”

“Do it.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to! Please!”

“I am in no mood to argue, Dementia. You will do it. It’s too bright, it attracts attention.”

“But I can go invisible,” she pleaded, “it doesn’t _matter!”_

“It does! You can’t go invisible all the time, can you? Not without your brain turning to paste. It’s coming off--!”

Flug looked at them both, caught off-guard by Black Hat’s reappearance and scrambling for things to say.

“Wh-What about your coat?”

Black Hat whipped it off, throwing it back into the van.

“It’s fabric, fuck it, I don’t need it! It’s not as if I can harness its powers as I am! Flug!”

Flug stood to attention.

“We’ll get you a hat and a scarf. You cannot wear the bag.”

“I’ll sweat to death.”

“It’s this or nothing.”

“It’s a fantastic idea and I love it very much, sir.”

“You better. As for me… Hm. I’ll have to swaddle. Swaddle like an infant at the bosom. If anyone finds out who we are it’s game over. But I will be at the bosom. The bosom… Of evil.”

Black Hat paused as if he had said something extremely profound. Flug weighed up the pros and cons of taking his own life.

“G-Good one, sir.”

“Thank you; I’m an unparalleled wordsmith.”

“What about you? You can’t be ‘Black Hat’.”

“Me?”

Black Hat held his chin, stood in the van door as if on a podium.

“A name? I’ll think of something.”

“Please… Please don’t make it over the top, sir. Please.”

“When have I ever been over the top?”

“You lived in a mansion shaped like a hat and blew ninety thousand dollars commissioning naked oil paintings of yourself.”

“Not ‘blew’, invested! Invested, Flug! But false names… Good thinking.”

Flug lit up. He looked like he was going to cry.

“You’ve ruined it,” said Black Hat. “We’ll need to justify why you… Look the way you do. You have an extremely rare condition; you can’t regulate your body temperature so you have to wear winter clothing at all times. Have you thought of a name?”

“Maximiliano Beefcake.”

Black Hat let out a long, shaky sigh.

“Maximiliano… Fine. Fine, whatever, you can shorten that to ‘Max’. But you are not,” he hissed, “ _not_ calling yourself ‘Beefcake’.”

“... Please?”

“No, Flug!”

“I can be Señor Beefcake.”

“Why ‘señor’?”

“I… I think it… I-It sounds cooler.”

“Denied! Dementia. What’s your fake name?”

She braced a hand to her forehead dramatically.

“Camille Durand. My story began when my evil uncle killed my parents for our castle, banishing--”

“No, no. Name only. That’s it. That’s all you need. You’re the most normal looking… Somehow. You don’t need anything else. Stop.”

“-- banishing us, leaving me destitute and hungry. For _revenge_ \--”

“You’re still going. You’re still going, how long have you been waiting to do this?”  

“I returned years later--”

“Is this what you’ve been doing? Back at the mansion, I thought you were reading aloud, is this what that was? Have you been holding onto this for months?”

She winked, as she had. She raised her hand, wanting to speak.

“Ooh, pick me!”

“For the last time; we’re not in a classroom. Stop doing that.”

“I don’t think we need fake names. Think about it.”

“You’ve never thought a day in your life, but go on.”

“We’re bad guys hiding out, so good guys will expect us to use fake names. Why don’t we just use our real names? Our birth ones. You can’t, but Flug and I can. So we can remember them. Walk up and say, ‘hi, I’m A--’”

Black Hat cut her off, incensed.

“Do _not_ use your real names! You have entire lives attached to those, documents, birth certificates, families, homes; do you have any idea what could be done with that information? Are you mad? No wonder your only life prospect was ‘lab rat’, were you always like this or did Flug melt a little of your brains when he stuffed you full of that lizard DNA? Your casual disregard for basic planning sickens me. And besides,” he said, “you gave those up the second you stepped foot in that mansion. The second you spoke to me. You don’t have any use for them, and if I had it my way you’d both forget them forever!”

His voice rang out amongst the trees, echoing.

“It was just a suggestion,” she said, defeated.

 

* * *

 

All four of them poured into the van and skidded off, glad to leave the campsite behind them. Flug begged to drive, but Dementia knew the area better, as well as the roads leading to the nearby store. They would make better time for her at the wheel as she wasn’t concerned with the petty matters of driving such as ‘safety’ and ‘the fear of a fiery death’. Flug was jammed in the back with 5.0.5, trying to ward off motion sickness and failing miserably.

Dementia skidded to a halt, veering off the road, all of them battering against the interior of the van. Black Hat turned to face her, enraged.

“Doltish slag! What’s wrong with you? You could have killed us!”

Dementia bounced in her seat, not believing their luck.

“Hiker! Hiker! By the road! Hiker!”

Black Hat looked out, just as excited.

“Hiker?”  
  
“Hiker!”

“Is he alone?”

“He was, I just saw him turn off the path and head into the woods!”

Black Hat pumped his fist in the air, appreciating an easy target.

“Unattended hikers are prime _murder material!_ Their strong calves and quiet self-confidence enrage me beyond belief! _”_

“Hiker!”

“A hiker!”

Dementia clapped, thrilled. She threw the door open, scrambling after the unfortunate hiker. Black Hat followed shortly after, running full pelt down a dirt path in the middle of the forest in dress shoes.

_“Save some for me!”_

They vanished into the woods. Flug was in a haphazard pile with his legs over his head, his voice muffled by the dirty floor of the van.

“Ow.”

He slowly righted himself, adjusting his goggles and peering out after them. They were gone, and the van was one breeze away from tipping precariously into a roadside ditch. Flug sighed.

Flug climbed into the driver’s seat. His gloves squeaked against the steering wheel. He tightened his grip until his knuckles turned white, then let go. He tightened, then let go. He felt sick. He could drive off. He could leave, right now.

Flug started the van. He could leave, right now, with 5.0.5, and risk Dementia’s wrath. He could try pleading with his parents for forgiveness, not that it would ever work, but he could try.

He could drive off, leaving Black Hat to die, and with him, his secrets.

Flug righted the van, parking it correctly by the side of the road. He took a deep breath. He turned the ignition off, making his way to the back to listen to the soft pitter-patter of drizzle on the roof and rest on the waterbed. 5.0.5 gave the area a precursory sniff, then went to climb on.

“No,” Flug said, “no, you’ll pop it. You can lie down here.”

He laid obediently next to Flug, craning his head to be pet. Flug stroked 5.0.5 gently behind the ear, too loyal and sweet a companion. Flug didn’t deserve him, he knew. A wonderful, gentle abomination.

5.0.5 pawed at the door, his claws clacking gently against the metal.

“Stretch your legs? Or do you need to use the bathroom?”

5.0.5 pawed again. Flug sighed.

“You should have gone before we left. It’s the woods. It’s not like you were hurting for places to do your business. There’s a metaphor about it.”

Flug pulled the door open, motioning outside. 5.0.5 lumbered out, examining the area curiously, becoming enamoured with an especially green patch of grass and rolling in it. Flug chuckled at his curiosity, even if he wasn’t in the mood to play.

5.0.5 was intelligent. Intelligent enough to understand and perform simple tasks, to understand most of what was said to him, and, according to the lab tests, was capable of basic arithmetic. He could be commanded and beckoned with ease, even if he liked to occasionally rebel in playfulness. If he wasn’t so sweet-natured, had he come out as intended, he would be very dangerous. But he wasn’t. He nursed the jovial innocence, intellect and understanding of a five-year-old child. A pet project that, whilst wrong, had come out alright in Flug’s doting eyes.

It occurred to Flug that he had no business being here. He had been so preoccupied with the idea of running himself that he never thought to let 5.0.5 flee. He doubted there would be any repercussions from Black Hat, and all Dementia would do was sulk. His joy left him.

“It’s time for you to go,” Flug said, quietly.

5.0.5 looked at him, hearing but not comprehending.

“I can’t promise that what happened earlier won’t happen again, and I can’t… I can’t promise it won’t hurt. If you want to leave, you can go. I’ll understand.”

5.0.5 came back to the van. He sat outside, looking inward.

“You’ll forget all about me when you get back out there. I promise. It was cruel of me to treat you like a house pet. You’ll feel better when you…”

Flug choked.

“When you f-forage or catch fish in a stream, or… Do whatever bears do. Stick your paw in a big jar of honey.”

Flug wept. Lies, it was all lies, anything to get him away. He wasn’t a forager, or a fisher. 5.0.5 was spoiled. He loved that big, worn blanket back at the mansion. The one Flug would wear occasionally, to mark with his smell. It was the only thing that stopped 5.0.5 from clambering into bed at night, content instead to rest on the floor nearby, poured into the largest dog bed Flug could find. His favourite food was shortcake, capable of polishing off a whole one in mere seconds, not needing it but enjoying the taste anyway. He would lick Flug’s face when the bag was off, when Flug nursed his soul through another gruelling night.

“Please,” Flug wept, “please go. I don’t want to do this, but it’s for the best. And if you really want to be with people, y-- you’ll find them, but I can’t let it be me, not while--”

Flug hastily checked for Black Hat and Dementia. He didn’t see them.

He removed his bag, not wanting to soak the inside. 5.0.5 licked his face, his warm breath buffeting Flug’s hair, stuffing his nose in Flug’s eye socket.

“Go,” Flug pleaded, “It’s for your own good. Please, I’m begging you. I know you understand what I’m saying. _Go.”_

Flug couldn’t fight off 5.0.5 even if he wanted to. 5.0.5 licked his cheeks diligently, more than happy to express his boundless love for his master. Flug cried harder, until he couldn’t speak, until he could only resort to pushing 5.0.5’s massive bulk. His commands to leave were garbled, sodden with the weight of his cries and half-hearted in the first place. 5.0.5 looked at him, then off into the boundless expanse of the woods. The air was crisp, hovering greyly between the bark. He walked off into the fog, striding with simple purpose. When his silhouette vanished, Flug pulled his knees to his chest and sobbed into them. He didn’t care if Black Hat and Dementia saw him like this, he didn’t care if someone recognized him by the roadside and had him arrested, he knew that, in his heart of hearts, he had done the right thing. As hard as it was, far harder than doing the wrong things he was accustomed to, he had done the right thing. It was agony. Unrelenting agony, nearly worse than the fire. He never wanted to do it again.  

Flug felt intolerably, inexorably alone. The trees loomed upwards, their branches pointing and mocking, gathered amongst themselves to jeer at him in boundless company. He resigned himself, alone. He stayed there for a time, bawling like a child would.

He was broken from his cries by a salmon to the face.

5.0.5 dropped it at Flug’s feet. It flopped, suffocating. They both looked at the fish. The fish looked back at them, as glassy-eyed as Flug. Flug felt his cheek. It was damp with lake water and salmon fluids. The purpose of the fish clicked and Flug laughed, sincerely and from the belly, still hiccoughing.

“5.0.5, I can’t eat this!”

5.0.5 nudged the fish towards him.

“No, no, when I said you should be out catching fish I didn’t mean do it _for_ me, you big, dumb--”

Flug wiped his tears, torn between elation and crushing disappointment. 5.0.5 resumed his nuzzling of Flug’s face, Flug wrapping his arms around the neck of his six hundred kilo therapy animal.

“I--”

Flug faltered, sincere, but unused to saying or hearing it.

“I love you too. I’m sorry, boy. What a mess. I’m sorry. But it’s not fair to have you here--”

5.0.5 climbed back into the van. Flug sighed, torn between elation and bitter disappointment.

“You’re not… Not going to go, are you?”

5.0.5 got comfy, nestling.

“Not like I could force you,” Flug mumbled. The van was filled with the moist whumps of salmon. They stayed there. In the distance, Flug heard Dementia hollering. He hastily donned the bag, goggles and all. Dementia appeared on the path, Black Hat following coolly behind. She waved, then pointed to the massive backpack she was hauling. As they approached, Black Hat’s smug grin turned to confusion as he stared at the now-dead fish, lying comically on the van’s floor. Dementia picked it up by the tail and slapped it against the door, laughing and toying with it as a cat would.

“... This is a salmon,” said Black Hat.

“Yeah,” responded Flug.”

“Why… Is there a salmon in the van?”

“5.0.5 hunted it.”

Black Hat rolled his eye. Dementia beat Flug with the fish, but Black Hat slapped it out of her hand.

“No, he didn’t,” Black Hat said. “He’s more of a plush toy than an animal. He couldn’t hunt his own belly button.”

“He did. I let him out to use the bathroom, and--”

Flug cleared his throat, deciding against telling them, not wanting to deal with what Black Hat would consider a failure.

“He brought it back.”

“I thought he was all…”

Black Hat wriggled his fingers.

“Goody-goody.”

“He is, but…  He’s still a bear, and he must still have the instincts, I guess. Besides, an animal hunting isn’t evil. Or good. It’s just what it has to do, I guess.”

Black Hat sported an odd look. Flug couldn’t place what it was. Recognition? 

“Keep the fish, I’ll eat that,” Black Hat said, “but not right now. I’m full.”

Flug nodded, thinking to the massive quantity of meat he had eaten the day before.

“You could thank him, y’know,” Flug said.

“I could,” Black Hat mumbled. “I won’t. But I could.”

Dementia threw herself into the back, too excited to pester Flug.

“Ooh,” Dementia said, rifling through the backpack, “ooh, we got some goodies! A little cash, a few packs of nuts, granola bars, water, and...”

With dark delight, she pulled out a large knife, still sheathed in a leather wrap and drenched in fresh blood. Flug felt his fear spike tremendously at the sight of Dementia with anything sharp. He couldn’t imagine what they did to that hiker, but he suspected that it was neither quick nor painless. She put it back in the bag, pulling out the food.

“What one d’you like best? Cinnamon, caramel, apple or…”

She pulled out the last one, squinting.

“... Strawberry yoghurt?”

Flug blinked, sincerely touched by her consideration.

“Caramel, please.”

Dementia kept the caramel one, picking another bar at random and throwing it at his face as hard as she could. Flug sighed, accepting it, taking a long drink of water before passing the bottle off to Dementia, who in turn also drank and passed it to Black Hat. Dementia shoved the bar in her maw, chewing as quickly as she could and forcing it down. Flug had to match her pace if he wanted to eat more than one bar.

“If I start choking, sir,” he said, “please hit my back.”

“I’ll see how I feel,” Black Hat said, waving him off.

With the food eaten, Black Hat nodded to the most pressing matter.

“Dementia. The hair.”

Dementia groaned, tugging on it.

“I really don’t wanna do this. I haven’t cut my hair since I was a kid.”

“It has to be done. It’s too distinctive. Use the knife.”

“It’s covered in blood.”

“Pass it here.”

Dementia pulled it out and handed it over. Black Hat slid the knife from the sheath, gave it an appreciative once-over and set about lapping up the blood, taking his time as he drew his long tongue over it, enjoying it with all the simple delight of a lollipop. Dementia was transfixed, leaning forward. It was not hard to imagine what she was thinking of. Embarrassing, Flug thought, but then he made the mistake of looking intently as well and found himself just as transfixed. Black Hat, noticing that he was commanding their attention and thus the slightest sliver of power, took his time. As a test he winked, his tongue to the flat of the blade. Not at either of them specifically, to a damp patch on the window of the van, to the precipitation. Dementia thrilled at the erotic spectacle of it all and Flug looked on and then, for a moment, for only a fraction of a moment, pointed to himself as if to say ‘me?’ before his higher brain kicked in and he played it off as an itch. An infinitesimal twitch of the muscles that laid Flug as bare as stripping.

Dementia was obvious in her slavish, unwavering, unquestioning devotion; pious and ruthless with it. She would swing it gleefully like a mace when pressured with even his most gentle charms, his most perfunctory promises met and magnified a thousandfold in her deranged fascination with him, with what he really was. Dementia was thoroughly domesticated, whilst Flug was more akin to an alleycat that would pick at scraps but skitter away if intruded upon. But nobody wants an alleycat. They want something they can keep. Something to throw bits of food to and be rewarded with obsequious affection. With just enough independence to function and to be entertaining. Black Hat considered this, his new pet project, looking Flug deeply in the eye and being met with a thick swallow and an averted gaze. Brilliant, neurotic and insecure beyond all words. Flug would be a great deal happier if he stopped worrying, he worried so much, and healthy workers made fine workers, productive workers. This was, pragmatically, for Flug’s own benefit, and when all was said and done Flug would thank him for the pleasure. Black Hat considered asking him for thanks then and there, he was, after all, in a weakened condition and some appreciation wouldn’t have gone amiss, but abstained and assured himself that it would come later. Flug had that ember in him. Sexual attraction. Simple, primal, and all Black Hat really needed. A blow or two to fan and that was that.

Flug knew, in abstraction, what Black Hat was. He had said it. A cold, calculating monster. A freakish, slimy manipulator that was just as dangerous as the knives-and-teeth beast he hid under a prim exterior. Flug was an astute man. He was, however, naive, as he assumed that acknowledgement and immunity may as well be the same thing.

This all occurred in a single lick of the blade and a long look that Flug took to be a taunting jibe, not realizing that Black Hat now toyed with something far more precious than his life. With a final pass, Black Hat finished and handed it back to Dementia. She went to wipe it clean on her shirt, before hesitating and giving the end a small lick.

“It’s kinda like we kissed,” she said. Black Hat spied the look of disgust and pity Flug gave her. Not quite as far gone, then. She sighed, cleaned the blade of spit on her shirt and braced herself. She hesitated.

“Do I _have_ to?”

“I’ve already told you why.”

“I know, but--”

“Hurry up.”

Dementia gripped her ponytail, sawing the knife through and shearing off foot after foot of hair. When it was done she felt glumly at the stump, then took out her hairpiece to let it hang loosely by her shoulders.

“How does it look?”

“It’s fine,” Black Hat said.

Flug hesitated, went to speak, faltered again and finally spoke up.

“It’s uneven.”

Dementia clung to the long snake of hair in her hands, distraught. Flug let her stew for a moment to see if this was a basking sort of pain, but she sniffled, pressing a hand to her eye. Instantly, he became racked with guilt. He wasn’t sure how this was his fault, but he was good at coming up with reasons.

“Stop crying,” said Black Hat. “It’s hair.”

“I know,” she said, on the verge of tears, “I know, but--”

“It’s tinted keratin. Stop acting like a child.”

Flug gave him an angry look, thinking about Black Hat’s earlier fit, but stewed and said nothing, shoving it under the surface until it sat under the nervous placidity as most of his feelings did. Dementia wept quietly into her palms.

“Give me the knife,” Flug said, softly.

“What, so you can stab me?”

“Give me the knife, Dementia.”

Dementia handed it over. Flug took great care not to cut himself as he took it. He spent a moment feeling it in his hand, the weight of it, the warmth of the wood in his hands. He let the death of that stranger wash over him and felt an odd mixture of awe and nothing. Flug stood, his neck craning against the roof of the van as he moved behind Dementia, kneeling down.

“Stay still, please.”

She did. Flug didn’t need to be a stylist to make out the worst of the damage. The hair at the nape of the neck was even enough, but as her locks grew longer they were ragged and peaked at the edges, sliding up and down in a way that couldn’t be passed off as punkish and intentional. One side was far higher than the other, near her mangled ear, and if Flug wanted to fix this he had to lop off more hair. He tugged gently on a tuft to straighten it, lining up the knife.

“You have to cut more?”

“Yeah. To even it out.”

She sounded meek, defeated, weak in a way that inspired an eye roll in Black Hat as if everything they did was intended to annoy him personally.

“If you have to,” she said.

Flug took a deep breath, threw out a prayer to some nonspecific entities he didn’t believe in and cut her hair, moving the knife in gentle, sawing motions. A clump fell from his hand, wild and askew, but better. He continued, evening out the cut as best he could, finding some trouble in the most difficult to manoeuvre areas and unwilling to slice her over them.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “The burns on my hands, the skin is too tight to--”

“It’s cool,” she said, meaning it. “We’ll figure out the little stuff later.”

Black Hat let loose a noise of exasperation and utmost boredom.

“Good grief, this better not end with you two fucking one another.”

Dementia laughed. Flug followed shortly after, the atmosphere lightened. Black Hat blinked at them, confused.

“What are you two laughing about?”

They laughed harder. Dementia yelped, clutching the nape of her neck.

“Dude, careful!”

“Me? You were moving!”

“Pfft, was not.”

“Was too! Is it bleeding?”

“Yeah, I’ll just tear my eyes out and look at the back of my own head, gimme a second.”

Flug gave her a withering look. He examined the nape of her neck. Surface level, nothing worse than a papercut.

“That’s barely a cut.”

“‘Barely’ a cut is still a cut!”

“Yeah, well…”

Flug mumbled.

“Sorry.”

Dementia blinked, the wind out of her sails, their bickering deflated.

“Well… Don’t do it again.”

Black Hat grumbled.

“Worse than children, honestly.”

Flug resumed his sawing until her hair was as even as he could manage, cut into a harsh bob. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t terrible, and that was all they could ask for.

“It suits you,” Flug admitted.

Dementia looked dejectedly at her ropes of hair, clumps of it falling through her fingers and tickling her legs.

“Does it?”

“Yeah.”

She sighed, no less upset.

“Can I…”

She faltered.

“Can I have a hug…?”

Black Hat readied his slapping hand in case she happened to get any ideas.

“No,” he said.

“Oh…”

5.0.5 nuzzled her but she looked just as upset. Flug held his arms out. He shouldn’t have, he knew, Dementia had no qualms about killing him if push came to shove but he cast it aside for a moment. It reminded him of comforting a sibling, even if she happened to be more homicidal than was considered average. Dementia squashed his ribs with her gargantuan strength, feeling better.

“Thank you,” she said.

“It’s OK,” Flug wheezed. “You smell terrible.”

“I haven’t showered in two weeks.”

“But we’ve… We’ve only been out here a few days.”

“Haha. Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

Black Hat, after ravaging the salmon, took on his previous disguise; appearing as a thin, older man with severe eyes, forced to shed his distinctive suit in lieu of dark slacks and a shirt. Dementia wore a sundress, white with black polka dots, as well as a large-brimmed sunhat and sunglasses that obscured most of her face. A flattering, classy look that didn’t stand out save for the colourful hair visible from underneath. Both of them, at a distance, could pass for normal, well-adjusted human beings.

Flug, unfortunately, was wrapped like leftover ham at Christmas. He was entombed in a ski jacket, thick hat and goggles, the padding so thick that he couldn’t put his arms down.

“Sir,” Flug begged, “I’m dying in here.”

“You should have thought about overheating before you decided to be in a plane crash,” Black Hat mumbled. “When we’re in there, don’t acknowledge the way Flug looks. If we get any comments we say the words ‘medical condition’ and they’ll be falling over themselves to never bring it up again. People let you get away with murder if you make things awkward. Act upset if you have to.”

“I feel ill. Like I’m going to pass out.”

“Yes, Flug, yes, that’s the spirit. But don’t worry. Even in illness,” Black Hat crooned, “I’ve still got my charm. Let me do the talking. You two are… I don’t know. Newly married. Just keep quiet.”

They disembarked from the van. 5.0.5 tried to follow them out.

“No,” Flug pleaded, “you can’t come in. You have to stay here. I’ll come back for you. I won’t be long.”

Black Hat looked at them suspiciously.

“What’s got him so riled up?”

“Nothing,” Flug said too quickly, fearing what Black Hat would do if he found out Flug had tried to get rid of the bear and _failed,_ “nothing.”

He clicked the door shut. Theirs was the only vehicle, save for a battered car near the entrance of the building. The outside was a dull brick of concrete, and one of the windows was missing, replaced with plywood.

“Cosy,” remarked Black Hat. “If we were normal people I would worry about being kidnapped and killed here. Oh well.”

He nodded to Flug and Dementia, reminding them of their new names.

“Camille. Max.”

They walked inside. The lobby was a time capsule of tacky seventies decor, with a patterned carpet and several small chairs dotted about, also covered in the same patterns, blending in a perfect slurry of terrible design choices. Flug bashed his leg on one of the chairs, not seeing it. Dementia laughed at him, then hit her leg as well. Black Hat, used to the finer things, had to stop himself from wincing. They approached the large, peeling front desk, and met the gaze of the receptionist, glancing up from her magazine. Her eyes screamed ‘underpaid’, and she looked like she was one bad day away from screaming it herself. She smiled, but Black Hat felt his gaze be dragged to the old television resting in the corner.

“Welcome to the Kingsport Hotel, how can--”

A phone rang at the other end of the desk. The woman looked at it, fidgeting.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this. I’m the only one here today.”

She walked off, leaving them all stood there. Silent, save for the television, which happened to be tuned in to the news.

‘WHERE IS BLACK HAT?’

On it, four people sat at a desk, all waving newspapers and arguing with one another, near-frantic with fear. Talking and gibbering.

“Hiding--”

“We’re all going to die! When he’s quiet, that’s when we have to be afraid! Do you remember the trucks? The bomb? The stabbing spree--!”

“He sent me naked oil paintings and letters detailing what he’s going to do to my wife--!”

“We’re all going to die! We’re all going to die, our children, our families, he’s going to kill us all!”

“Now we don’t know that--”

_“My wife left me because I couldn’t compare to the painting!”_

Black Hat raised a brow, looking smug, but his smugness vanished when his voice, his extremely distinctive voice, his voice that the reception worker must have heard despite taking the phone call, came scraping out of the television. A clip from a daytime television appearance filmed months before, a rare interview. Black Hat sitting, quite casually, on a couch and eating a biscuit opposite a journalist.

“What do you do for inspiration?”

Black Hat shoved an entire custard cream in his mouth, swallowing it in one gulp.

“Oh, lots of things. I take walks, listen to classical music, play my violin. Bit of torture.”

“What sort?”

“You know,” said Black Hat, honestly considering the question, “acid is the big new thing, but I just can’t say no to a knife. Neither can the victim!”

Black Hat and the interviewer laughed lightly, such things expected in a world filled with megalomaniacal supervillains. Flug and Black Hat looked at one another, both of them distraught.

Black Hat turned to face Dementia, wide-eyed and panicked, jabbing her with his elbow in an effort to make her understand that he couldn’t speak without being recognized by this woman. This interrupted her, as she was surveying the small jar of sweets on the desk with rapturous lust.

“Ow,” she said, “dude, your elbows are sharp, stop it.”

He did it again.

“Stop it, dude! Ow! Like little knives!”

He did it again, near-beating her in a frantic attempt to make her understand.

“Use your _words!”_

Black Hat suppressed a groan and made hand gestures at Flug.

“Dementia,” Flug whispered, “he can’t speak."

Dementia blinked.

“Huh? Oh, right. Yeah. Haha, duh. You could have made it obvious.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“Leave it to me,” Dementia said, channelling all her confidence. “He’s not the only charmer, y’know.”

“No,” Flug pleaded, “please, no!”

Black Hat begged with his eyes. The woman returned, looking more haggard than ever.

“I’m sorry. Thank you again for waiting.”

Flug resisted the effort to fidget as he looked her in the eye, but he quailed as she looked over his odd attire.

“It’s-- It’s alright,” he reassured. “We-- We can-- We can book rooms?”

“You can. It’s a hotel.”

They looked at one another.

 _“... Can_ we book rooms?”

“Oh, sure thing.”

She hemmed and hawed as if there were any other guests to consider. She engaged in the bane of Flug’s existence; a casual conversation between strangers.

“So,” she said, “what brings you here?”

“We’re not on the run,” Flug blurted. She laughed, taking it to be a joke.

“Yeah, most guests aren’t. Probably. They’d say that if we had guests. Aren’t you hot in that big scarf? It’s humid today.”

Dementia braced her hand to her forehead as if the receptionist had personally insulted every one of them. If she hammed it up any more she would have fainted.

“It is a medical condition!”

The woman looked mortified. Black Hat was pleased that his advice was working but died on the inside nonetheless.

“Oh I am so, so sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean--”

Dementia slapped the desk with her palm, trying and failing to summon fake tears.

“How dare you, madam! How dare you! Hasn’t he suffered enough! He doesn’t need you pointing and laughing like the hilarious freak he is, how dare you, madam!”

“Honey,” Flug said, worried that Dementia was getting too into it, “honey, she didn’t mean it. She said sorry. Let’s just book the rooms and forget all about it.”

“Oh, darling… If I must!”

The woman hurried up, eager to save face. She kept chatting, polite but embarrassed.

“So are you two--”

Flug spoke up, not wanting to give Dementia the opportunity.

“We’re a couple.”

“How lovely,” the receptionist said.

“We’re a young couple and we’re-- we’re in love. I am totally fine with marrying a woman.”

“He is,” Dementia said.

“I’m not gay.”

“He’s not!”

“‘That’s a sexy lady’, I say, all the time.”

“So much! I can’t shut him up! All day with the sexy ladies! I’m thinking about divorce!”

Black Hat looked on, a torrid mixture of shock and disgust mixing in his gut as he watched two blundering idiots fail to book a room. The receptionist forced out a laugh, wanting to get these freaks away from her.

“You’re very cute together. She’s… She’s very spirited! And w-who is this?”

She nodded to Black Hat. Dementia spoke up, proud of her cover story.

“Our grandpa!”

The woman looked at them, raising her over-tweezed brow.

“‘Our’ grandpa?”

“Yeah!”

“You both… Share a grandfather?”

Dementia realized what she had said. In a flash, she thought of a solution.

“Our family tree is a mess, _”_ she beamed.

Flug threw himself forward, desperate to shut her up.

“We’re not brother and sister! We’re-- we’re not-- we’re cousins.”

“Yeah,” said Dementia.

“We’re just-- we’re only cousins--”

“We’re sexy cousins.”

Flug could sense Black Hat looking at them, boring a hole through both of their skulls with his laser-thin pupils. The woman pointed to him, deeply worried.

“Are you alright, sir? You’re shaking.”

Flug, gripped by terror, looked. Black Hat was making an awful creaking noise, looking through all of them. Black Hat’s palms were bleeding, his nails breaking the skin, his eyes bulging out of his face.

“Oh, that’s normal. It’s ‘cause we keep marrying our cousins,” Dementia said.

Black Hat’s creaking grew louder. The woman looked at the phone, and with it, their doom. Flug sprung into action.

“He’s fine! It’s the medical condition!”

“If you’re sure. What is it?”

“What is what?”

“The medical condition.”

Flug blinked. His mind whirred, scrambling to come up with something.

“... Severe. We-- We should go, thank you, goodbye--”

“I-I _really_ don’t think he’s OK,” the woman stuttered, eyeing the phone.

“No, no, he’s OK! You don’t have to call anyone, he’s just… He’s…”

“He’s…?”

”He’s having a stroke,” Dementia blurted.

The women blinked, rising to her feet.

“Right now?”

“Yeah!”

“He’s having a stroke right now? At this very moment.”

Flug wanted to cry. He gripped Dementia by the shoulders, unable to keep his voice even.

“It’s not a stroke, _honey, remember, we talked about this, please!”_

“What? No, we didn’t.”

“We did,” Flug pleaded, “honey, it’s not a stroke, it’s something else.”

“Ohh! Oh, yeah, it’s not a stroke, it’s… Indigestion. Or leg cramp. Do old people get those?”

“It’s leg cramp,” Flug said. The woman accepted this readily, wanting them gone. They booked in and paid, all of them suffering, bar Dementia who was having a lovely time in her new hat.

Black Hat signed his ‘name’.

“I hope you enjoy your stay, T--”

She squinted.

“Ter-- Tuir--”

Flug looked at the book and found that Black Hat had signed his name as ‘Toirdhealbhach’. A little ‘fuck you’ to all of them for the hideous spectacle he had just witnessed.

“... Mr Fournier,” she said.

Keys in hand, they slunk off, navigating down the fusty hallways.

“We can sneak 5.0.5 in,” Flug said. “There must be a fire exit and I can take care of any alarms, so we… Don’t need to worry about him.”

Black Hat threw him a glare.

“Sir... Are you mad?”

Black Hat said nothing. They faced their door. His hands shook. He tried to unlock the door but struggled as the key rattled in his grasp. His face remained flat and lifeless, but his Flug saw hell in his eyes. His palms were encrusted with thin rivulets of blood.

“S-Sir?”

The door clicked open on the seventh attempt. Black Hat walked in, waited for the rest to join him, closed the door softly, cleared his throat, tore his disguise off to reveal a maw of slavering teeth and screamed at the top of his lungs. It was hard to make out what he was saying in the din, like the toll of a great, horrible bell mere inches away. Flug was worried that Black Hat was going to pass out from the sheer force of it.

_“A STROKE! A FUCKING STROKE! I’LL SHOW YOU A BLOODY STROKE YOU HALF-BAKED HARLOT, I’LL REACH INTO YOUR BRAIN AND SQUEEZE LIKE I’M WRINGING OUT A SPONGE! I’D CALL YOU BOTH HALF-WITS BUT THAT WOULD IMPLY THERE WOULD BE ONE FUNCTIONING HUMAN BEING BETWEEN THE TWO OF YOU AND WE ALL KNOW THAT ISN’T TRUE! OF COURSE YOU WOULDN’T HAVE A BRAIN TO BLEED, WOULD YOU, DEMENTIA? A STRONG GUST OF WIND WILL JUST CAVE YOUR SKULL RIGHT IN, IT’S NOT AS IF IT HOUSES ANYTHING! A BLOODING SHITTING FUCKING BLOODY STROKE! ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS ACT LIKE NORMAL HUMAN BEINGS FOR A FEW MINUTES, A FEW MEASLY MINUTES, BUT OH, I’M SORRY, THAT’S JUST TOO MUCH TO ASK YOU MALADJUSTED FREAKS, ISN’T IT? ‘OH NO, A STRANGER, BETTER SHAG MY COUSIN’! A STROKE! A FUCKING STROKE, I FEEL LIKE I’M ABOUT TO HAVE ABOUT EIGHT OF THE BASTARDS! THE WORST PART OF IT ALL IS THAT I’M NOT SURPRISED! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THAT WAS LIKE? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THAT WAS LIKE TO WATCH? I’VE PUT YEARS AND YEARS AND YEARS, YEARS, INTO CHARMING PEOPLE, AND I HAD TO WATCH YOU TWO MORONS BLUNDER YOUR WAY THROUGH A SIMPLE CONVERSATION! THE CLOSEST THING YOU’LL GET TO CHARISMA IS WHEN I CARVE THE WORD ONTO A BRICK, SHOVE IT UP YOUR COLLECTIVE ARSES AND RATTLE IT AROUND TO BEAT YOU TO DEATH FROM THE INSIDE! I WISH I WAS DEAD! I WISH ALL OF US WERE DEAD! I WISH WE ALL HAD THAT FUCKING STROKE!”_

“Ooh, a minibar,” Dementia exclaimed, ignoring him, “you want anything?”  
  
_“GIN!_ **_ALL THE ALCOHOL IN THE FUCKING CABINET!"_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you fools! i've duped you into reading a bed sharing fic! such was my intent all along!!
> 
> as an aside, Toirdhealbhach is pronounced 'turlow'. yes, that is real


	8. We Should Ignore Our Problems With The Aid Of Violin Music

                                                                                                                                    

After sneaking 5.0.5 into the room (which did not require the disabling of any fire alarms as the Kingsport was so run down that they didn’t work anyway) and allowing Black Hat to scream out his frustrations into a pillow for a whopping fifty-five minutes, the group collected themselves. Flug inspected the room, curious. Upon finding a dead mouse under the bed he regret the decision immensely. He shuddered. Black Hat glanced back, his voice hoarse from shouting.

“... How fresh is that?”

“Weeks old, sir.”

He grunted in disappointment.

The wallpaper was yellowed from years of smoking, some of it peeling at the top like dead skin. In the corner sat an old dresser, and next to that a small chair that spewed dust when Dementia threw herself onto it, sending Flug into a coughing fit that forced him to hack out of the window. Pressed to the wall was the double bed with a cabinet, and Flug forbid himself from inspecting the bare mattress even if his love of cleanliness demanded he see the full horror for himself. He glanced at the bathroom, spying a reasonably sized shower-bath, a smattering of toiletries and towels. He checked the room next door, the single, and found it to be slightly cleaner, with a normal shower cubicle in the bathroom. Given the larger floor space, 5.0.5 would sleep in the single room. If Flug was sly he could pilfer a few duvets for him from one of the staff closets, but for now he was content to doze. Flug didn’t want him listening in, anyway. He returned to the double room to bored Dementia and a grumpy Black Hat, who was eying the bath through the door. Flug, overcome with the sensation of marinating in his own filth, darted forward into the bathroom, slammed the door shut and locked it tight. Flug heard running, then hammering at the door.

“Flug! Get out of there at once, Flug!”

Flug turned the faucet on, nearly delirious with anticipation.

“I’m sorry, sir! I need this!”

“You only wanted in when I wanted in, stop acting like a petulant little child and get out! I saw it first!”

Flug gave Black Hat a look he couldn’t see. He stripped naked, throwing his clothes into the corner and, with some hesitation, removed his hat, scarf and goggles, taking great pains not to catch himself in the mirror. He clambered in, smacking his bare foot on the edge of the bath in the process. He sighed as the hot water hit his skin, laughing a little in sheer, unadulterated delight even as his burns itched. He almost forgot about the ancient terror baying for his blood outside the door. Flug heard Black Hat turn away from the door to face into the hotel room.

“Dementia, drag this idiot out, I feel like I’m caked in dirt.”

Dementia’s voice was muffled but luckily she spoke like everyone in town needed to hear her.

“Huh? What? I was napping.”

“Flug stole my bath, drag him out.”

“That's so childish," she teased. "You're really getting mad about that?"

Flug snickered. He washed, listening intently, savouring what he could before Dementia dragged him out.

“It’s not childish,” Black Hat insisted, becoming embarrassed but too deep to stop, “it’s a matter of principle.”

“Nah. I’m gonna go back to my nap.”

“No, don’t crawl into bed! No, Dementia, no!”

“It’s comfy.”

“You aren’t a fucking spaniel, now get in there and impose my dark will.”

There was a pause.

“I don’t want to see Flug naked,” she said.

Flug laughed again. As he looked up to wash his hair he spied the ceiling and recoiled.

“Oh Jesus, there’s black mould in here!”

Black Hat cackled, as he did when executing his most fiendish and daring plans. He banged on the door again. “It’s what you deserve, you thieving little bastard!”

“Why can’t you just shower in the other room,” Dementia yawned. “It’s not like you need a bath, right?”

“Because,” Black Hat thundered back before the conviction trickled away, “because it’s…”

“Because..?”

“If I only take showers I shed funny. It’s such a hassle to deal with. And I like baths, they’re relaxing. I need all the relaxation I can get, if my blood pressure gets any higher I’ll go blind.”

“Oh my God,” Dementia cooed, “you like to bask! You’re adorable!”

“I’ve killed trillions of sentient lifeforms and pleasure myself remembering that.”

“With your cute little basking snake-hands!”

“How dare you say something like that you lecherous little whore-- don’t pinch my cheeks! Stop that! Stop pinching! I order you to stop!”

Flug heard muffled slapping, backed with Dementia’s snorting laughter and Black Hat’s guttural curses. Black Hat made that hissing noise, the one he made when he was murderously angry, but in his sorry state it just egged Dementia on as she found it cute. He finished washing, stood there for a few minutes to collect himself, then dried and dressed. Flug walked back into the bedroom. Dementia was cocooned in the duvet up to her neck, laying there like a grub. Black Hat sat with his arms crossed and a red cheek, his tongue flickering in agitation. Flug tapped his fingers to one another, his nerves coming back.

“Are you OK, sir?”

“No,” he bit back, “I’m sulking.”

“I’m sorry for cutting you off, but I really needed a shower, sir. Really, really needed one.”

“Three days it took for a complete dissolution of order. Three days. At least you idiots pretended to respect me back in the mansion.”

“I do respect you,” Flug said, meaning it. “You’re an extremely capable villain, the most successful ever. It’s just…”

Black Hat looked at him.

“It’s just what Flug.”

“It’s nothing, sir.”

“Clearly it isn’t. Go on, speak your mind.”

“It’s-- It’s just,” Flug stuttered, “it’s hard to take you as seriously now that you can’t… Do the scary… Monster… Thing.”

“I am ‘the scary monster thing’,” Black Hat bit back, “I’m just stuck in this meat cage because of you. You’d do well to remember that.”

“Right. Sorry, sir.”

Black Hat sighed. Flug looked at his face. Though he looked better, killing that hiker gave him a burst of energy he sorely needed, the bags under his eyes ran deep and his scales looked dull.

“Now that we’re inside we have to get a sense of where we are and what’s going on in the world. We have to get ourselves sorted out, starting with some ground rules. If we’re going to be cooped up with one another I want some order.”

Flug nodded, agreeing entirely. Dementia snored.

“I thought you were going to take a bath, sir.”

“Later on, but seeing you hop in enraged me. I actually wanted to get this out of the way first. Let me rouse the lapdog.”

He shook Dementia by the shoulder.

“Up. Get up.”

She mumbled something and rolled over. Flug envied her. Sleeping on a soft bed was tempting, but he had to wait until night fell if he didn’t want to ruin his sleep schedule. Black Hat shook her harder.

“Up! Up! Go! Up!”

“Can it wait?” she groaned, “I hate planning. Just let me sleep. I haven’t slept in a bed for days and I’m exhausted.”

Black Hat was near-thrashing her by the shoulders but she remained comfy.

“No, Dementia, it can’t wait, we have things to do and you are the only one here physically capable enough to cause carnage.”

“And I can do that when I’m not…”

She drifted off again.

“... Snoozin’...”

Black Hat groaned. If they were cornered then she was the only one that was in any fit state to fight. Her necessity worried Flug. It tempted him to give up there and then. Their fates were in the hands of a woman that did not understand that the sun and the moon were different things and that frogs didn’t come from forcing tadpoles into chicken eggs because they’re basically 'fat sperms’.

Then again that wasn’t really her fault, either. Flug put it to the back of his mind. Black Hat turned to Flug, looking severe. “I didn’t want to do this,” he said, “but she’s left me no choice.”

“Do what you have to, sir.”

They nodded at one another. Black Hat shook her again.

“C’mon,” she pleaded, “I just wanna--”

“Now now,” he crooned, drawing closer to her, “you don’t want to disappoint me, do you?”

Her voice was thin but the sleep was gone from it.

“No,” she said. “But I’ve been sleeping on the floor of the van, my back is killing me--”

“I know, honey,” he soothed, “I know. It was kind of you to do that for me, wasn’t it? You could have pushed me right off the waterbed and there wouldn’t have been a thing I could have done about it! You’re so, so good to me, sweetheart.”

There it was again, ‘sweetheart’. Black Hat could go on for hours about the concept of love being entirely repulsive to him and only a fool would take anything he crooned regarding it as sincere, and yet as woefully transparent as his manipulations were, as unbelievably brazen, it was backed with such unwavering confidence that it worked. And Flug, even as a bystander to this obvious performance, watching a puppeteer merrily jerk his plaything about, couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter. The idea of a ruthless, cruel creature having a soft spot was too great a lure to resist, his harsh rasp tempering to a soft purl. It felt like honey sliding down Flug’s spine with every word and he could feel himself zoning out to hear the noise, not the words. Dementia giggled, entirely transfixed.

“You’re such a sweet talker. C’mon, I want to push you on the waterbed, not off it.”

“Such a flirt,” he breathed.

Flug looked at his face again, expecting to see repressed disgust, yet oddly he found none. The pleasure of playing someone like a fine instrument outweighed it. Dementia turned around, peeping her head from the blanket to look adoringly at Black Hat. He moved a strand of hair from her face, tucking it softly behind her ear. She flushed, looking away.

Flug felt angry. Flug felt very, very angry. All she had to offer was physical strength. Anyone could have that with the right combination of radiation, painful procedures and lizard DNA. He was a genius. A genius among geniuses. Yet all she had to do was throw a tantrum to be sweet-talked by the unrepentant torturer but when Flug did it he was threatened. Flug clenched his fists, looking away for a moment before his rational thought won out and he quelled his temper.

“Will you kiss me if I do it?”

Black Hat faltered. His face contorted, but as quickly as it appeared it vanished. Resignation tinged his honeyed tones.

“Of course, darling.”

He compromised by kissing her gently on the forehead, hoping she wouldn’t ask for more. Luckily she was too overwhelmed to consider anything else.

“I knew you would do that,” she tittered, turning in again. Black Hat suppressed a curse but his lip flared in a snarl before he caught himself. Flug felt like he was pressed to a window, looking in. Peeping.

“You do love a prank, don’t you? Well, I’ll admit, you got me there. Will you get up, darling? For me?”

Dementia hesitated. She went to speak but Black Hat cut her off with a smooth motion to her collarbone.

“For me,” he purred, running a finger along her neck and up to her chin, “Demmy?”

She threw back the duvet, tossing it to the floor. She unzipped her dress and removed her bra in a lightning fast motion before Black Hat stopped her, putting his hands up quickly. She sat confused and half-nude.

“No,” he insisted, “no, no, we have to do some things first.”

‘First’. Flug rolled his eyes. “Put the bra on,” he said.

She looked at them, her pride flaring up in the face of Black Hat’s manipulation. “Maybe I’m more comfortable like this,” she huffed. “Maybe my bra is sweaty and I’m getting toasty titties. You ever think of that, huh? Huh?”

“Dementia,” Flug said, “I have never, ever thought about your ‘titties’ and I’m never going to.”

“And what’s wrong with my-- oh, wait, yeah, nevermind.”

“Just once I would like to have a conversation with you people that won't end with someone nude or crying,” Black Hat muttered, rubbing his temples, his charming demeanour gone. “Just once.”

Dementia raised her hand.

“For the last time, you aren’t in a class-- you know what, I don’t care anymore, speak.”

“I can get nude and cry if it would turn you on.”

“Focus, woman, focus.”

Dementia grumbled, dressing herself. Flug glanced at her.

“Were you really going to have sex with him while I was still here? With no warning? Dress off, boob out?”

“You’ve got legs, don’tcha?”

Flug knit his brows. He shook his head, knowing he wouldn’t win an argument. Black Hat cleared his throat.

“Like it or not we’re all going to be stuck with one another in these coming weeks so we’re going to have to get along. And the best way to do that is...”

He trailed off. He had never encountered a problem he couldn’t stab or skin.

“... Flug, help me out here.”

“Well, sir,” Flug said, “according to ‘Self-Esteem and You; How To Stop Crying In The Grocery Store’, the best way to maintain healthy relationships is through open communication, support and compromise.”

“Have you ever actually done any of that?”

“... Excuse me, sir?”

“You know. Maintained a ‘healthy’ relationship. Family, friends, partners, whatever. Anyone.”

“5.0.5--”

“Anyone that isn’t that fucking bear.”

“Well, I… Not as such, no.”

“Dementia?”

She beamed, happy to be involved.

“Yeah! Up until the restraining orders.”

“I’ll mark that as a ‘no’,” Black Hat sighed. “I can’t believe this is happening. I’m not good at ‘playing nice’ so don’t expect any group hugs but I’ll do my best to be… Tolerable.”

“That’s remarkably noble of you, sir,” Flug said. Black Hat made a face.

“Urgh, don’t say that. I feel sick enough already. Let’s… Get some ground rules established. If you have any suggestions now is the time.”

They all thought about it.

“No masturbating in the double bed,” Black Hat said decisively, looking at Dementia. She looked highly offended.

“I don’t think it’s fair to make rules that only target one person!”

“You heard me, you horny scoundrel. I know you’re frothing at the loins at the prospect of sleeping beside me but take it to the bathroom and keep quiet. Show me some basic courtesy.”

“Can I at least stay awake for hours staring at your perfect face and breathing in your perfect smell?”

“Does it involve touching me?”

“... No.”

“Fine, whatever. Knock yourself out.”

Flug also noted this rule.

“No hoarding cash,” Dementia said. “Whatever we get we dump in a pile and spend it on what we need. More days in this place, gas, food. Stuff for everyone, right?”

“You’re just saying that to take the heat off you when you hoard the money and spend it on stupid stuff,” Flug bit back.

“Am not!”

“You are! That rule is too reasonable, you’re clearly planning something.”

Dementia cursed under her breath. Black Hat rolled his eyes, muttering. “As much as I hate…”

He shuddered.

“... Truly hate to admit it, she makes a good point. I decide where the money goes.”

“I think we should have a summer wedding,” she said. “That way we can have a spring baby.”

“This was my fault for encouraging you. Wait, no it isn’t, it’s your fault for being a scary weirdo. Don’t ever touch me.”

“That’ll make lovemaking really difficult but anything for you, Hatty.”

“We all need some privacy,” Flug said. Black Hat nodded.

“Fair. I don’t want us all to be stuck together at all hours of the day. But we can’t galavant as we please, every outside trip will be planned.”

Flug snapped his fingers, something occurring to him.

“A pharmacy,” Flug said. “We’ll need to steal from a pharmacy. We need first aid kits, painkillers, bandages, cream for my burns, something resembling sterile procedure for when you get ill again. Your chest exploding open isn’t very hygienic.”

“Good call, we can steal pills, too,” Dementia said. “But when?”

“During the night,” Black Hat said. “It doesn’t have to be today or tomorrow, but at night. Dementia will break in and we will unload as much as we can into the van and speed off. Anything useful, we keep. Pills, we sell. I’m assuming you’re well acquainted with strung out idiots we can unload those things onto.”

“That’s like, seventy percent of the people I know!”

“Good. It’s best if we all have a role. Flug, you’re in charge of day-to-day mundanities. You can fit in a crowd so you’ll be doing grocery runs or anything ‘legitimate’. Building as well, if we get ahold of any parts, but that’s a given. Dementia and I will take the van out at night to prowl for victims, or to scope out any future targets for raiding. Planning and organizing fall to me, the leader.”

“Can I be the leader, sir?” Flug asked with a naive amount of hope.

“You couldn’t lead a lemming off a cliff, sit down.”

Dementia raised her hand again. Black Hat gave her a weary look, and in response she raised her other hand.

“What are we getting at the end of this?”

“The satisfaction of knowing that you’ve kept me alive and made the world a terrible place.”

“I mean, that’s cool,” Dementia said, “love that, but what about money? Or powers, can you give me powers?”

“You already have powers.”

“Yeah, but maybe I want more!”

”You’ll get money.”

“How much?”

“A lot.”

“Hmm…”

Dementia went to play with her long hair, forgetting it was cut.

“I’m the strongest one here, way more useful than Flug, so I’m thinking of stuff I want. It’s not like you can really say no.”

Black Hat went wide-eyed. He exchanged a worried look with Flug. She twirled her fringe.

“I want… A pinball machine. Wait, no, two pinball machines. And a popcorn maker. And a katana. Not a cosplay katana, a real katana. And a Blu-ray player. And a bass guitar. A really nice one, too.”

“Yes, fine, whatever, whatever you want.”

“And you’ll sleep with me.”

Black Hat stared at her. His face remained still, but his eye was wide and piercing as if trying to dig through her. Flug baulked at her boldness.

“You’ve been planning on this from the very start,” Black Hat said.

She giggled. “You seemed really upset in the forest so I didn’t want to overwhelm you. It’s important for you to take one day at a time, honey.”

Black Hat cursed.

“Fine. When it’s all over, fine. You want your carrot on a stick, you’ll get it.”

“Nuh-uh! More than once, silly, we’ll be in love. I know you like me, too. ‘Cause you call me Demmy and make me do stuff for you.”

“You’re craftier than you let on,” Black Hat admitted. “How many times? For how long?”

Dementia blinked, thrilled to have got this far. She wiggled her eyebrows, purring her words.

“How long can you handle?”

Flug watched them both, his jaw open. Dementia was conducting a deal with the devil and coming out on top. She was either far smarter than Flug gave her credit for or far, far stupider.

“One year of whatever you want, whenever you want it,” Black Hat said, “within reason.”

“Sir,” Flug said, appalled and envious, “you can’t honestly be fine with this--”

“Oh, give over,” he bit back, “a year is a blink of the eye to me. She waited until I was at my weakest to make her demands. You should be admiring that villainous tenacity. Pay attention to her, you’ll learn something.”

“Wait, you’re impressed?”

“Of course I am. If I’m laid low by incompetence--”

He looked pointedly at Flug.

“-- Then that is infuriating. But I can’t begrudge reasonable demands. It’s a good demonstration of technique. I know when I’m bested.”

“Thank you,” Dementia said, puffing up at the praise.

“Don’t let it go to your head. And only when we’re done. I die, you get nothing. Are you happy now?”

“Very.”

Flug spoke up, more than a little resentful.

“But I-- I have demands, too.”

Black Hat scoffed, waving him off.

“You’ll get your reward, Flug. I did promise.”

“Maybe I want more.” Flug glanced to Dementia, who was staring at him, unblinking. A silent threat. “M-Maybe I want...”

Dementia’s eyes remained fixed and glassy. He couldn’t ask for the same ‘deal’ she had, she would leap the bed and tear him to bits with her hands.

“Maybe I want a… A suit.”

Dementia relaxed, smiling. Black Hat cocked a brow.

“A… A suit?”

“Yes.”

“Like the one I wear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“... Alright then?”

Dementia clapped, bobbing on the bed. “Ooh, ooh, I want a suit!”

Black Hat shrugged, confused. “Fine, you’ll get suits. No hats, though. That is my thing.”

“Get 5.0.5 a suit,” Flug said, “I think he would like it.”

“No!”

“Please, sir.”

“You’re mocking me,” Black Hat spat, “you’re mocking me in my time of need. Haven’t you humiliated me enough?”

No.

“I’m not mocking you, sir. It’s because I love him very much and he would look cute in a suit.”

“Urgh, fine, fine! Fine, at least she had the decency to give me some dignity.”

“Blackmailing you for sex isn’t dignified, sir.”

“It’s better than a cute little outfit for your freakish pet son. And stop talking about this, Dementia looks like she’s about to pass out from excitement. What else… Food. How will you eat? All we have are these rooms, you won’t be able to prepare meals.”

Dementia shrugged. “This place has a little restaurant on the ground floor, right? We--”

Flug cut her off, grabbing her by the shoulders.

“Dementia, never, under any circumstances, eat anything from this hotel. Not from the restaurant, not from the vending machines--”

“Can I eat stuff I find on the floor?”

“No! Dementia, this place stinks of poison, and kind of like sewage, do not eat anything from here.”

“Fine! Fine, whatever, just get your hands off me.”

Flug let go, a little embarrassed. He cleared his throat. “We can order take-out but that will burn through our money. Um… We can ‘buy’ appliances we need to make basic meals. A rice cooker, for example, or a microwave. What about you, sir? How will you eat?”

“That’s a whole other kettle of fuck,” Black Hat said, “I’ll worry about that.”

Flug nodded. He did as he was told but couldn’t shake a nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

“Now we worry about self-defence,” Black Hat continued, looking grim. “It will take an entire squad to bring Dementia down but we can’t rely on her strength all the time. If she dies I am absolutely fucked, but against one person she’ll fight and she’ll win.”

“Hell yeah,” Dementia whooped.

“I,” Black Hat admitted, “may not do so well. But if I'm ever cornered, by myself, I'm doomed anyway. But I do have something in a pinch. I hope.”

Black Hat squinted at his hand. After a few moments of careful consideration, his fingers extended into long, sharp claws. Black Hat’s shoulders slumped from the effort and a sigh escaped his throat.

“Good, that’s good. I have my teeth, too, I can bite out throats if things get really desperate. I don’t have it in me for anything much more… Extravagant. Not as I am, we need to do more misdeeds first.”

“You don’t look sure of that, sir,” Flug said, raising an eyebrow.

“There is something I want to try but it can wait for now. That leaves you, Flug. We don’t have any of your equipment to hand nor the means to make it. If you’re cornered in an alleyway what do you do? Other than cry and soil yourself. Do you have any kind of self-defence training?”

Flug narrowed his eyes at the remark but answered honestly. “None, sir. I think I would die.”

“I think that as well. You get the knife.”

Flug blinked. Words failed him for a moment.

“Are you sure?”

“No,” Black Hat admitted. “No, I’m not. You’re the least on board with what we’re doing. But I can’t afford to have you killed.”

“This isn’t a good idea,” Dementia said, unusually serious. “He was gonna drive off and leave you to die.”

“I know,” Black Hat said, his gaze unbroken. “But he can’t afford to be defenceless. Get the knife.”

“But--”

“Do as I say.”

Dementia pulled the knife from her bag, tossing it onto the bed with a muttered, “whatever.”

Black Hat gripped the knife. He pulled it from the sheath, dusted off errant strands of green hair and examined the streaks his tongue left on the blade. He sighed, sheathing it. He gripped it by the leather case and presented it to Flug, like a handshake. It was a strange feeling. Black Hat willingly handing over control of something, no matter how small, no matter how mundane. It felt oddly intimate. A mark of implicit trust. Of recognition. Flug gripped the handle and went to take it, but found resistance.

“Please let go, sir."

Black Hat, as if counting down to the moment, held on.

“Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it,” he said, “Damn it. Take the bloody thing, then.”

He let go. Flug held the knife by the handle. Hesitantly, with Dementia’s beady eyes fixed on him, he pulled it from the sheath. High quality, very sturdy, around twelve inches in length with the blade making up seven of them. High carbon steel, strong but prone to rusting and damage. A general wilderness survival knife, more suited to hacking at rope and plant matter than sinking into shoulders and slitting throats. If Flug could handle the act of maiming without the security of dozens of cameras, traps, binds, scalpels and a fleet of robots to ensure his safety. Away from his cool, clean lab. He shuddered, sheathing it and clipping it to his belt. Dementia relaxed.

“You didn’t think I was going to lunge forward and stab him,” Flug said, the air heavy around them, “right?”

“I dunno,” Dementia answered. “Better safe than sorry.”

“I made a promise.”

“Good. Keep it.”

Black Hat cleared his throat, weary.

“If you two could shelve the theatrics for a moment we have business to be attending to. If you can’t think of anything else to get out of the way we’ll get a move on. I’ve been doing some thinking about what happened and I have a hunch. An educated guess.”

“Oooh,” Dementia exclaimed, her serious disposition popping like a balloon in front of her loving boyfriend, “ooh, tell me! I don’t understand what’s going on!”

“When do you ever?”

“Haha! Ow!”

“So Flug… Somehow brought about world peace. All war has ended. This is a golden age. Or…”

Black Hat paused for drama, then threw his arms in the air in malevolent triumph.

“Is it!”

“It is,” Flug said, flatly.

“Is it, Flug!”

“It probably is.”

“I am going somewhere with this, shut up. Flug has… Somehow brought about world peace. Flug screwed up bad.”

“How did you do that, anyway?” Dementia asked, scratching her head. “I mean, one minute you were explaining your boring WiFi stuff so you could watch your dumb incest TV show--”

Flug nearly rose to his feet.

“There is a lot more to it than-- I’m getting hung on on the wrong point, continue.”

“-- And the next thing is I blacked out and then all this stuff was happening. You blacked out too, right? What happened in that time? What could you even… Do?”

“Well,” Flug responded, haughty, “I can’t expect someone of your lesser intellect to understand what I get up to. You’re too busy setting fires and getting drunk to appreciate the sophisticated complexity of my work and the myriad risks that come with it. Your mere presence is an insult to my intellect and I don’t think you should ever ask about my work again!”

Dementia leaned in, looking smug.

“You don’t know what happened either, huh?”

“No,” Flug said quietly.

“We don’t have time to worry about the ‘what’,” Black Hat exclaimed, driving himself between them in a bid to command their attention, “because the ‘what’ is extremely fucking stupid and we’re all going to have to live with that. The real question is ‘what now’. And I think I’ve finally got my head around it.”

Black Hat leaned in and smiled at them as if he was telling them a secret.

“Flug hasn’t changed the fundamental nature of man. This can’t last. It will collapse in on itself, but when and why, that’s the question. Some wars have raged for hundreds of years.”

“Like the Swiss Wars,” Flug said, tapping his chin. “They were in nine different conflicts before this happened.”

“The Swiss are a bloodthirsty people, but I digress. You can’t just click that away. But on the other hand, no country wants to be the aggressor, not in a ‘peaceful’ world, they would be blown off the face of the planet before you could say ‘oopsie doodle’. But all this... ”

Black Hat scrunched up his face.

“‘Goodwill’, it sickens me. You’ve not solved all the world’s problems forever, Flug. You’ve hit a reset button. The car’s moving forward, but it doesn’t have a steering wheel. Money still exists. People still exist. Evil does, and will, always exist. And I can tell you I’m not the only one that wants it to stay that way. If we keep adding our own malevolent contributions to the pile something will work out, even if things seem hard now.”

There were all silent for a moment.

“That seems… So cynical,” Flug said.

“Business is cynical. I can coast by but I need to do something hideously evil to end this forever. A gesture so grand and extravagant and cartoonish that it can never be topped. A magnum opus. We have to ruin everything.”

“Everything?”

“Everything. Take Europe, for example--”

“What’s that,” Dementia asked, “like, a country?”

“Dementia, you moron, how can you not know where Europe is!”

“It’s an easy mistake to make, sir,” Flug said. “You’re using the old name. Nobody calls it that anymore.”

“Old name? What is it now?”

“New Switzerland.”

“Oh, right, of course. Anyway, this is good. It's something, at least."

“Yeah,” Dementia agreed, “now you have a goal and can do evil stuff again, instead of being sad in the woods.”

“Let’s not shelve that thought entirely, it's been a shit week for me. But as far as the big event goes I don’t have any ideas yet. I’ll need to think about it. But I want it to be brutal and I want it to be unpleasant. I want people to look and go ‘that’s Black Hat’. Now then… Money. I can rob, cheat and steal so we should do alright. Maybe we can scrounge some. Flug, what about your parents? They’re wealthy, what was it they did again--?”

Flug answered abruptly. “They cut me off, sir. We aren’t on speaking terms.”

“Oh?”

“They told me.”

“You can’t worm your way--?”

“No, sir. I can’t,” Flug said with a rare and decisive edge to his voice. Black Hat squinted at him but didn’t push any further. Dementia scratched her chin, considering all the parts she had paid attention to in between looking interested and taking micro-naps.

“What now?”

Black Hat chuckled darkly.

“You both know I’ve been greatly weakened. But I’m Black Hat. Who’s to say anyone else does?”

Flug raised his hand. Black Hat made an incredulous noise.

“Not you, too!”

“We fled your home in a van, sir. You were crying.”

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up! My point is; if I make a public statement declaring my power--”

Flug made an incredulous noise back. Dementia did as well, wanting to be included.

“You want to do a show when we’re on the run?”

“I do! Think about it. People will think ‘that’s Black Hat, if he’s announcing himself then he must be as powerful as ever’. It’s a bluff. They won’t know I’m on the verge of death because I won’t give them a reason to suspect otherwise. With all the gadgets in the world, all the preparation time you could ever want, all the planning you could ever ask for, would you, Flug Slys, ever dare to attack me in my prime?”

Flug thought about it. The prospect was horrifying, his potential fate more so.

“Never.”

“Exactly! Nobody must know about the state I’m in. That would be the end of us. Speaking of which, I’ve had an idea. I think I’ve managed to claw the strength needed to use my coat. One of you, sneak it in.”

“Not it,” Dementia yelped. Flug groaned.

“Really? ‘Not it’? Are we children?”

“You heard her, Flug,” Black Hat said, nodding sagely. “She said not it. That leaves you.”

“What about you, sir?”

“It’s raining.”

“Why didn’t you carry it in earlier?”

“Because I was too busy shepherding you idiots! Go get it.”

Flug sighed. He donned his thick jacket and walked sullenly to the van, pelted with fat, hard drops of rain. As a matter of courtesy, he tried to clean off the worst of the bird shit with the water, folded it up and brought it back inside, passing the uncomfortable woman on the front desk as he gave her an awkward wave. As walked along the hallway leading to their rooms he paused and looked at the jacket. He checked behind him. Nobody in sight. Flug removed his thick winter jacket and, overcome with curiosity, slipped Black Hat’s coat on. He winced, expecting some magical trap or horrible consequence, but found that nothing happened. The collar extended outwards and the back swished dramatically at his heels with even the slightest moment and he turned back and forth to watch it move with a giddy, childish glee. It made him feel powerful, even if the chest sagged around Flug’s slight frame. For a few seconds Flug could pretend he was Black Hat. Not as he was now, neutered, but as he was when Flug was earning his doctorate. Gleeful, evil, mysterious and having the most fun a person could have with swords, poisons and torture. Giggling, Flug removed it, noticing Black Hat’s lingering scent, a strong cologne and a hint of sweat. He looked around again. Still nobody around. Then he checked again.

Flug, shuddering, slipped his scarf down just a tad and huffed the inside of the jacket. It was fine for him to be creepy, he rationalized, breathing in the smell of the greatest villain on the planet. Creepy is bad, and Flug was evil, so if anything creepy was good. Black Hat would be thrilled!

Flug huffed again. No, he wouldn’t. God, he really wouldn’t be. What was he doing? He was a smart man, he didn’t have to do this. He rubbed his nose on the inside, like a cat against a shin. He really was worse than Dementia, he thought with a spike of bitterness. No! No, he decided, no, she was stupid enough to say all the things she thought, Flug had some sense about him. What Black Hat didn’t know didn’t hurt him. He donned his own coat, folded the jacket back up, stood there until his erection subsided and entered the room again. Dementia was dozing, resting on her hand. Black Hat pinched her painfully. She awoke, cursed, then dozed off again and received another pinch. Flug suspected this was how Black Hat had amused himself in the time he was gone.

“Took you long enough,” Black Hat grumbled, administering another pinch with his sharp nails. “Give it here.”

Flug handed it over and Black Hat put it on, grimacing at the stain. Flug stood still, fearing that Black Hat would smell him in the jacket. Black Hat flickered his tongue over the garment and tutted.

“What I wouldn’t give for a decent dry-cleaner…”

Flug exhaled. He took a deep breath and adjusted the collar, closing his eyes. With a great deal of concentration, Black Hat touched the inner lining and found his hand sunk completely into the fabric, as if swallowed. Black Hat beamed, his eye crinkling, as sincere as he was able.

“Yes, yes! Yes, I can do it! It can be done! We can use it! Think of it as a very big pocket. We can use everything I stored in it before we fled the mansion, and we can store things, as well.”

Flug scratched his chin, thinking of the infinite possibilities such a garment offered. “What do you have?”

“I can’t remember. Let’s find out, shall we?”

He cracked his fingers, wiggled them and then reached inside. He pulled out a small packet of tissues, breath mints, a stack of business cards, a nail file, a violin and a bow. He laid the violin gently on the bed, touching his fingers to it.

“Oh good,” Black Hat said, a warmth to his voice, “I wondered where I put that.”

Flug’s shoulders sank. “Y-You don’t have… Any money? Maybe a gun?”

“When you can fire lasers out of your eyes you never think to carry one,” Black Hat admitted.

“You can fit anything in there?”

“Not quite ‘anything’. It has to be something I can carry in my weakened--”

Dementia thrust her hand forward, fondling the inside of the coat and attempting to slip her hand through just as he had. Black Hat jolted, his shoulders going up at the feeling, like probing fingers stroking the roof of his mouth.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, thrilling at the novelty, “this feels disgusting! Like… Like the inside of a mouth. Flug, touch this thing.”

That was odd. It didn’t feel like that in the hallway.

“Dementia, I won’t,” he said, putting on his best appalled tone, “that’s so invasive.”

“Dementia,” Black Hat said, too beaten down by her antics to shout, “if you have any sense you will remove your sweaty little hand from my portable meat tomb and never do that again.”

“Huh? Oh, you can feel that? Sorry!”

She withdrew her hand. Black Hat shuddered, then touched his fingers to the violin again with all the love of a parent tending to their child. Flug could tell from the misty look in his eye that he was desperate to talk about this thing. Dementia took the bait.

“What kind of v--?”

“Why Dementia, I’m glad you asked! It’s a Stradivarius. Spruce at the top, willow for the linings, maple at the back. My precious little Ghould. I had it commissioned, then trekked to the farthest reaches of the land to find a dark and respected wizard. I paid him a great deal; wizards are very expensive. He cursed it.”

Flug became uncomfortable at the thought of wizards because nothing undermines your faith in physics and reality than old men firing black holes from their hands. Dementia listened intently.

“So cool… What did he curse it with?”

“Well,” Black Hat rasped, more than happy to ham it up for the sake of a good story, “he cursed the violin to bring shame to my enemies. When I play it, and I concentrate…”

Flug and Dementia leaned in.

“It makes them piss uncontrollably.”

“Wow,” Flug breathed, “really?”

“No,” Black Hat laughed, “But it’s good that you believed that. Shows I haven’t lost my touch.”

Flug deflated, wrapped up in the story of it all. He had never heard Black Hat play and he was willing to bet Dementia hadn’t, either. The organ, that was to let everyone know who ran that place, sitting in the guts of the house. The violin, however, was different.

“What makes the pipe organ so evil? I always associated it with churches. Old ladies singing hymns,” Flug said.

“You try playing with your right hand, hammering out a counter-melody with your left and kicking those pedals like you’re trying to murder a hitchhiker," said Black Hat. "A difficult pipe organ piece completely disproves the existence of God but does, in fact, confirm that hell is real and resides entirely in your cramping ligaments. The style of it all, the envy it inspires… I miss it. That will be the first thing I do when we return home. But I can ease my homesickness for now! Give me a letter.”

Flug blinked.

“U-Uh, S--?”

“Shostakovich, The First Violin Concerto! Flug you mad bastard, that’s a hard one. Dementia, a number between one and--!”

She piped up.

“The Devil Went Down To Georgia!”

“No, no. A number. Between one and four. One and four, Dementia, do you know those numbers?”

“Oh! Two.”

“Two! Scherzo, it’s like you’re trying to torture me! Though it’s a concerto I think I could live without other instruments taking up my spotlight.”

Flug raised his hands in reassurance.

“Sir, we believe you, if you don’t want to--”

Black Hat braced the violin to his neck.

“Oh, if you insist! The things I do for you two, it’s criminal.”

Flug, expecting an ear-piercing cacophony would split his skull, braced himself beforehand.

“Ye of little faith,” Black Hat muttered, his face serene.

He started.

It was exquisite. It was as expressive as it was technically proficient, not a single spoiled note and not a single measure out of tune. Black Hat, going by his expression, knew this. He played for five and a half minutes, and they sat there, unmoving, watching the whole thing. Flug saw Dementia, out of the corner of his eye, grab the back of her head in growing astonishment. Halfway through she blurted out a loud, “how the fuck?" By the end, Flug was convinced she was going to rip out the little hair she had left like she was staring a lawnmower. The minutes felt like seconds and when the room fell silent again Flug was overwhelmed with a need for more. He, despite not knowing anything about music beyond ‘it sounds nice’, could wholly appreciate Black Hat was a fantastic musician. Dementia, knowing such things, was near foaming at the mouth at what she had just witnessed.

“Holy shit! Holy shit, you’re-- you’re amazing.”

“Naturally,” Black Hat said dismissively.

Black Hat bounced the bow against the strings to produce strong staccato notes, playing a scale as easily as breathing. It looked simple but given the way Dementia was reacting Flug assumed it wasn’t. Flug couldn’t help but catch some of her enthusiasm. Again she spoke.

“The-- The thing, do the thing, the double harmonics!”

Black Hat laughed, sharp, cutting and oddly cordial. “‘Double harmonics’ she says as if it’s hard.”

He played again. It was high and piercing. Flug didn’t consider it to be pleasing to the ear, but it must have been painfully difficult and yet here Black Hat was, gliding the bow across the strings as naturally as buttering bread. Dementia fell off of the bed. Dr Flug was compelled to look at his hands, smooth, scaly and gliding effortlessly up and down the length of the neck. Up and down. Up and down.

Flug shifted on his knees and gulped. He squeezed his left knee painfully, successfully suppressing something untoward and, more importantly, noticeable. He transitioned into another classical piece Flug didn’t recognize, then into The Devil Went Down to Georgia (for only a few bars) to Dementia’s hollering delight, then played whatever he felt like for the fun of it. Flug looked intently at Black Hat’s face. For a moment he forgot who he was looking at. The joy was so sincere and lacking in malevolence that Black Hat looked almost innocent. The closest thing Black Hat had to humanity was surfacing in front of Flug but to point it out would send it sinking back into the depths of Black Hat's cold, dark soul. Flug found it fascinating. Before they knew it a half hour passed and Black Hat dragged the instrument from his neck with a sigh, the note dying out.

“I needed that,” he said, a warm smile on his lips.

“That could be worth millions of dollars,” Flug squeaked, unsure of what to say.

“It is, Flug,” Black Hat said, the instrument pulling out his most affable qualities, “it is. But I would sooner sell the skin off my back and every organ in my body before I sell this. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir. I just had to mention.”

“I know. It is a fair point.”

Black Hat slipped it back into his coat and already the warmth started to fall out of him. After only a few seconds he looked as sullen as ever. “For now we should check the news,” Black Hat said, his voice sharp and harsh. “They were doing a bit on me in the lobby before you two clowns started--”

He took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled. He spoke on the breath out, his voice painfully strained.

“Introducing yourselves.”

Flug thought about bringing up the fact they really should have done this earlier, but if he were being truthful, he didn’t mind one bit. It was the closest he had ever come to hanging out with anyone, even if the circumstances were unusual. Flug picked up the remote and turned on the television, cycling to a news channel. On it, a young woman speaking to the camera on a street he recognized, her voice muffled under guns and constant explosions.

“Day three of the siege on the Black Hat estate,” she said. “What you are hearing is--”

Another explosion. A spine flew into view but was hastily kicked under a nearby car by a crew member.

“-- The security system,” she continued, unperturbed. “Any attempts to breach the gates have been met with overwhelming firepower.”

Flug looked at Black Hat. His tone dripped in condescension. “Well, sir, maybe it was worth staying at home instead of living like animals in the woods. I mean, I am a genius and I did arm the house.”

“Keep listening, you smug git,” Black Hat grunted.

Another explosion boomed from the television. A police officer, clutching his ruined head, shambled into view, blood pouring from the cavern where his nose and eyes should have sat. He stumbled and screamed.

“God, my face! My face! Please, my face!”

The woman approached him with a microphone, motioning for the crew to follow. The change of angle giving the group a better view of the house. Dozens upon dozens of cars outside, as well as vans, with armed men stationed beside them, their weapons primed. The reporter tapped the officer on the shoulder, causing him to howl in shock and confusion.

“Do you have time to answer a few questions? Where is Black Hat? Why hasn’t he made a statement? What do you think he is planning?”

“Jesus, lady, my face! Please help me! Please signal a medic, please! I got caught in the blast-- my face-- my eyes, Christ, everything burns!”

“Do you think he’s waiting in his mansion? Is this a plan? Is he hiding somewhere else?”

Burbling, the man passed out, pink foam seeping from his face. His cooling corpse was hastily kicked under a nearby car by a crew member.

“They got brazen,” Black Hat said, steepling his fingers. “One sniff of world peace and they try to storm my house to drag me out. They think I’m hiding in there. Fools.”

“What would they do to us, sir?”

“Torture and death for you two. Torture then vivisection for me.”

“And 5.0.5?”

“Probably a zoo.”

“Shut up,” Dementia shouted, transfixed, “I think I just saw another spine!”

The reporter put her hand to her earpiece. Another nod to the camera and a brisk jog to a tall man wearing a lab coat, surveying the scene in front of him. After composing herself for a moment, she spoke.

“There’s been a breakthrough.”

The group looked at one another, worried.

“I’ve just been informed of a breach. After a friendly game of rock paper scissors and a beating by the authorities, an enthusiastic volunteer walked into the grounds, crying bravely. A fleet of robots activated and descended upon him, killing him instantly. Fortunately,” she continued, “the robots were intelligent enough to recognize themselves but not intelligent enough to deal with it. Upon seeing hundreds of picture-perfect copies every robot had an existential crisis and committed mass suicide. I’m here now with our robotics expert. Dr Amin, who would design these ruthless killing machines to do this?”

Dr Amin waved to the carnage behind him, scoffing.

“Only a complete moron, Susanne. As far as security goes for evil bases this is basic, basic stuff. Really poor work on display here. If the rest of the security system is of the same calibre then we should make it in, but it could take weeks.”

Black Hat looked at Flug, thoroughly vindicated.

“Maybe I wanted them to do that,” Flug sulked back, his ego wounded. “And you only gave me two weeks to design, build, program and deploy those things, my hands bled!”

“Why would that matter?”

Black Hat went to speak. He squinted at the television. Susanne was jogging in heels again, her hand to her ear.

“Yes, we’ve… We’ve just been informed the police have made arrests.”

They looked at one another, confused. Dementia did a headcount, twice, but everyone was accounted for. A grainy image appeared on the screen.

Escorted from the front gate, with a small towel over his head for privacy and his arms in absurdly small cuffs, was Hat Bot. Or Hat Bot-Ler. Flug never did decide on a name. Black Hat wiped the sweat from his brow. Flug stuttered.

“I-I only ever built one, so he wasn’t affected.”

“That could have been dire,” Black Hat said. “At least it will self-destruct now that it has been compromised.”

“At least it will do what now,” Flug said.

“... Self-destruct.”

“I didn’t program it to do that, sir, you told me not to.”

“No, no, I told you not to give bases self-destruct buttons, but as far as mindless drones go it’s mandatory!”

“It’s rule thirty-eight, sir, you-- you explicitly forbid--”

“First of all don’t go reminding me of the rules. I know the rules, I wrote them. Second of all, rule thirty-eight is ‘if you throw your arch nemesis off a cliff dramatically, go fish them out then shoot them a few times or they’ll probably survive’. You’re thinking of rule thirty-nine. I’m thinking of invoking rule forty.”

“‘Your subordinates make wonderful test subjects when it comes to torture. Have fun and be yourself’.”

“Oh, I see your two brain cells finally bumped into one another.”

Dementia pulled at her hair, kicking her feet. “Will you two shut up, stuff is happening!”

Another still of a large man, dressed like a bull, clambering the fence. Then being shot with enough tranquillizers to kill an elephant and stuffed into the back of a police car. Black Hat cocked a brow.

“Metauro?”

Flug watched, just as confused.

“What was he doing?”

“Probably trying to break his family out of the basement now that the flow of ransom notes stopped,” Black Hat mused. “He’s going to be a real grumpy guts when comes around and finds out I made them eat each other.”

“It’s a little hard to sympathise with your plight when you keep saying things like this, sir.”

“I don’t want your sympathy. And they shouldn’t have been so edible. It’s their fault.”

Their attention was drawn from their bickering to the television as a large banner appeared at the bottom of the screen.

‘BREAKING NEWS-- FACTORY FIRE TRAPS WORKERS’

“At least we’ll have a little entertainment,” Black Hat said. “This will take my mind off the horrible state of my life. Taking bets, how many died?”

“Uhh… Ten,” Dementia said.

“Five,” Flug nodded. “I wish they would cut back to the mansion.”

“Is it worth phoning the station, I wonder,” Black Hat mused. “I mean, it’s me, they would do it, right?”

“They would track the phone, sir.”

“Oh. Right.”

They settled in. It was the usual calm, placid narration of death and destruction as it happened, playing out in real time. A large factory in flames, fire licking and slavering at the sky. Then a resounding crack, like that of a whip, as something plummeted through the roof from above. In a matter of moments, the figure rose from the gap, carrying a person under each arm, deposited them on the ground in front of the roaring crowd and flew back in.

Dementia bounced up, darting forward and jabbing her finger to the television screen.

“That’s the guy! That’s the flying one, the guy, when we were in the city, that was him!”

“Move your hand,” Flug grouched, “I can’t see him.”

Dementia stood up, motioning to the television violently. Something about this man seemed familiar to Flug but there were so many superheroes vying for each other’s business that he could have been anyone.

“Oh no,” Black Hat groaned, “It’s that one.”

He dashed in and out, depositing the victims gently onto the ground in front of emergency workers, back and forth ceaselessly, his silhouette hidden by speed, distance and smoke. After he evacuated the last of the workers he was swarmed with lights and cameras.

On the television, a young hero, no older than twenty-five and clad in an uncomfortably tight suit, looked nervously into the camera before composing himself. Indistinguishable from the dozens of other superheroes that came before him, save for the fact he was alive and covered in ash. Tall, lean, dashingly handsome. Probably an idiot, Flug thought, they all were. You had to be, to take up that vocation with a world that had Black Hat in it. A very long, flashy suicide that was at least fun to watch. In the background were fire trucks and emergency workers, as well as soot-coated victims.

“It’s a miracle everyone lived,” the reporter stuttered, more than astonished. “All the entrances were completely blocked off. How did you do it?”

“Because I could,” the man said simply, “and that was all I needed. I couldn’t stand by and let this awful thing happen when I have the means to stop it. It’s inhuman.”

The troupe groaned, all of them rolling their eyes.

“He’s been practising that,” Black Hat said, running his hands down his face. “Why can’t they go back to talking about me? Who cares about these people?”

“Do you recognize this guy?” Dementia asked. “I’ve never met him. And by met I mean, like, beat up.”

“We’ve had run-ins,” Black Hat said dismissively, waving his hand. “He crops up now and again.”

Flug nearly broke his fingers from the conviction in his air-quotes.

“He ‘crops up’?”

“Yes, ‘crops up’! He’s been a nuisance these past few years. He’s a spoiled little rich boy. He can fly and has amazing strength. We were very lucky he isn’t in the ‘super hearing’ camp because he would have found me in that van and my heart couldn’t take it. Bested by death, there’s a little dignity in that, but having my guts blown out by _Stratosfear_ , ugh...”

The name clicked in Flug’s mind. He was certain. He did recognize this man.

“Look at him,” Black Hat jeered. “Squeaky clean. Flying. Saving orphans. I hate him.”

“So do I,” Flug hissed.

“Suck up,” Dementia teased, and Flug threw her a look that said no, his contempt was genuine.

“I’m serious. He flies near airports. Back when I had my Colt he had me grounded every other week, I hate that guy. They let him get away with it because he ‘saves people’ or something. He’s a real… Pain.”

“You can swear, y’know. And what’s a Colt? One of your dumb planes?”

Flug made a delightful squeaking noise. “It was my favourite,” he gushed. “You know, everyone would say ‘that’s a Tri-Pacer’, but there’s actually a few key diff--”

Black Hat put his hand up.

“No, no no, no. No. We don’t have time for you to fawn. Back on topic.”

Flug deflated. More chatter from the television, more ooh-ing and ahh-ing from a transfixed crowd. Flug felt a little bitterness rise in his stomach. Technically he was more of a hero than that guy ever could be, not that he could say it. His ears pricked up when he heard a name he recognized.

“-- Have you heard the news? About Black Hat? You’re a well-respected hero, Stratosfear, do you have any idea where he is or what he’s up to? Should we be elated, or terrified? What do you think?”

Stratosfear’s face became like thunder, but his voice remained calm and smooth even as he grit his teeth.

“Every day that thing is on this planet is a nightmare. He’s a soulless, unrepentant monster that corrupts everything around him. Hell is too good for that ba--”

“Don’t swear, please, this is a live broadcast and children may be watching.”

“-- Bad man, that very bad and not good man.”

“That’s fair,” Black Hat shrugged. “He’s not saying anything that isn’t true. We should ignore this one. We had a close call the other day but we shouldn’t go picking fights until we’re in a better position.”

“I believe that people, deep down, are inherently just,” Stratosfear said, exuding an atmosphere of captivating confidence and simmering rage, “and that men and women everywhere are trying their best to be good even if they don’t know it. That people are inherently, when you take everything away, good. That is what the Peace is about. That is what I am about. That is what we are about. And I will not sacrifice that belief for a two-bit slimeball in a bad hat with a worse accent. And that’s all I have to say.”

Dementia gasped, clutching her hands to her mouth. Flug did the same as the interview continued, the noise fading away to garbles as they awaited Black Hat’s response. They looked at him, slowly, as if turning to face a car wreck.

“Change of plan,” Black Hat said, his voice unusually high and shaking, “he’s going to get fucking obliterated.”

The man on the television, wielding the microphone like a mace, barrelled on.

“We all know he’s a scoundrel. A sexy, sexy fiend. But your connection is more personal than most, is it not?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with the factory fire--”

“Welp, I think we’ve seen enough,” said Black Hat, “time to get our bearings. Telly, off. Legs stretched. In fact, I have an even better idea, we should all go to bed and reconvene tomorrow. Time to turn in, great job everyone, we’ve made some real headway today.”

“It’s two in the afternoon, sir,” Flug said, a bad feeling building in his gut.

The voice oozed from the television with almost perverse glee.

“Is it true he killed your parents?”

Everyone was silent. The group, the crowd and the two figures entombed on screen.

“I don’t see what that has to do,” he repeated, nearly shaking, “with the factory fire. Have you talked to any of the people that were trapped inside? About the wiring?”

“Yes-- They were very well respected in the art world, was it upsetting? To have them taken from you at such a young age and in such a brutal way?”

“This is beyond inappropriate. How dare you. How dare you make a parade of my loss.”

“All in the interest of investigative journalism, you understand. John. John, get a close up of his tears.”

“I am not crying!”

“Could you? We have the picture.”

“Please don’t show the picture--”

The broadcast cut to the picture. Black Hat, leaning in to take a picture with a sobbing, blood smeared child, beaming in malevolent glee. And on the front, in his perfect handwriting, ‘To a fan; killing your parents was the highlight of my week -- Black Hat’.

Stratofear cradled his head, more horrified than angry in the face of such appalling rudeness.

“You had a bit ready? Ready to go when you needed it? I do something unrelated and you just… Had that ready?”

Flug and Dementia turned to Black Hat slowly, both of them stunned.

“In my defence,” Black Hat said, “I still think that’s very, very funny.”

“Oh no,” Flug whispered. “Oh no.”

“Look,” Black Hat exclaimed, “look, I’ve killed a lot of parents in my time. It’s to be expected. This isn’t as shocking as you think it is. Statistically, some of their spawn are going to end up being superheroes.”

“Oh no. Oh no, sir. Oh no.”

“I heard you the first time!”

“Oh shit,” Dementia said.

“Oh no,” Flug said. “Oh no. We’re being chased by a superhero and you murdered his family. Oh no. Sir, this isn’t just-- this isn’t just a job for this guy, now he’s-- oh no--”

Black Hat winced. Flug despaired.

“What else did you do, sir?”

“Well, I mean, it’s nothing, really.”

“What else did you do to this guy?”

“When I killed his parents in the alley, I… I thought they were involved with the local mob, you see, and I wanted to set an example to organizations trying to operate outside of my influence, so, I, you know--”

“I don’t.”

“... I draped their intestines around my neck and did some tap-dancing. The band was still playing inside, jazz, and who doesn’t like a little jazz? I wanted to get a good angle on the picture so I dragged a drunk man into the alley and made him take it.”

“Let me put this together. Please let me just… Spell it out. You killed this boy’s parents in front of him.”

“I did. I found him hiding in a trash can nearby. About seven years old, give or take.”

“Laughed to tears because he was hiding in a trash can, dragged him out, took a selfie--”

“They weren’t called selfies then.”

“Then tap danced on his parent’s corpses.”

“It’s hard to get the ‘tap’ on flesh so I had to kick very hard.”

“And now he’s going to capture us.”

“No. Anyone else, yes. He’s going to completely obliterate us.”

“And this could have been completely avoided if you killed him there and then. Like in your rule book.”

Black Hat stood, enraged.

“That’s-- I’m--!”

His shoulders slumped.

“Yes.”

Flug stood, mad with fear.

“Were you that arrogant?”

“Oh, and you wouldn’t be if you were in my shoes? Don’t act high and mighty. You don’t deserve it. It took, what, three days for you to flip? You’re quite the brat under that sycophancy. I almost miss it. Your ego is out of control.”

“I do respect you, sir. A lot, but this-- this is--”

“If this guy finds out you’re not doing so good we’re screwed,” Dementia said plainly.

“You don’t sound like you respect me,” Black Hat hissed, “you said it yourself, I’m not as scary to you, am I? Do you think me a weak old man?”

Flug was hysterical. He was just one man, one man in a world where he could be blown to bits by a superpowered rage machine for willingly spending his time with a war crime on legs.

“I never said that, sir,” he stuttered, struggling to make sense of his racing thoughts and thundering heartbeat, "but this-- I--"

“You don’t have to. And I don’t have to say anything, either.”

Black Hat snapped his fingers. In an instant Dementia leapt up with superhuman speed, tackling Flug off of the bed, gripping his arm and twisting it with unnatural strength. Flug shrieked in pain. Black Hat snapped his fingers again, leaving Flug a shaking mess on the floor and Dementia by his side.

“Good girl.”

Flug lay on the floor, quiet. There was a dull knock at the wall from the room over.

“I’m fine,” he lied, “I’m fine, boy, I’m fine, I tripped. I just tripped, 5.0.5.”

The knocking eased, then stopped. Black Hat motioned for Flug to roll over with a gentle kick, then pressed his shoes to his throat. He didn’t apply any pressure, but the gesture was enough.

“I would like for us to get along. It will make planning easier. But you’re still my captive. You’re a hostage, not a nagging husband. And I’m turning this shit off,” he hissed.

Black Hat held the remote in his hands, faltering.

“It’s the red button, sir,” Flug said, wiping his eyes, “at the top.”

“I knew that! I knew that, Flug. Don’t patronize me. Of course I can work a television.”

Black Hat hit a button.

“That’s ‘mute’, sir.”

“I… I know. It’s this one.”

“That’s the TV guide.”

“Well, I meant to do that. Idiot. Maybe I want to see what’s on. Maybe I want to relax.”

“Do you want me to turn the television off, sir?”

“... Yes.”

“OK.”

“I’m just as smart as you.”

“I never said you weren’t, sir.”

Black Hat removed his shoe and Flug stood. With shaking hands he turned off the television, looking away as he did. Black Hat and Dementia looked rattled, but nowhere near his state. Black Hat huffed.

“Well, this is a bit shit, isn’t it?”

“You can say that again,” Dementia shuddered. “I can kill normal people no problem, but if someone else has powers, uh… I mean, that guy could just pick me up and dump me in the ocean.”

“Right. He’s probably going to do worse since you’re really buying into this whole ‘evil’ thing. But I think a part of him is still that scared little child. I might be able to frighten him off for a bit. I need to make a public statement.”

Flug looked up meekly.

“Should we work on a script, sir?”

“Oh, Flug,” he laughed, lightly, “I won’t need one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our heroes, ladies and gentleman! apologies for the wait, you know how life is. i hope this bumper chapter makes up for it!
> 
> if flug's near-constant boners didn't clue you in, things may get saucy from this point on!


	9. All Doctors Are Basically Therapy Doctors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is lads, we're starting to get into the sexual content! this is your warning!

After admitting to traumatizing a child in an act as flamboyant as it was short-sighted, Black Hat retired to the bathroom to bathe. Dementia pointed out that, as Black Hat suffered under a looming cloud of illness that could drop and swallow him at any time, the best course of action was to keep the door wide open as he bathed his supple, emaciated body. Black Hat pointed out that she was an idiot, and no, he wasn’t going to do that. Flug instead suggested that Black Hat should keep the door closed to maintain his privacy but leave the door unlocked in case he fell ill again. Black Hat, begrudgingly, agreed to this. The running of water stopped and a gravelly sigh crept through the door, soon ruined by a yelp of dissatisfaction.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding about the mould!”

Flug looked smug. Dementia, used to appalling living conditions, picked at her nails. Flug excused himself to the other room, Dementia waving him off with a ‘whatever’. 5.0.5 sat on top of a broken chair, snuggling into it. Flug sighed.

“You aren’t allowed on the furniture. You aren’t a cub anymore.”

5.0.5 held his arms out.

“Oh, fine. You’re too spoiled.”

Flug threw himself at 5.0.5’s bulk, squishing him into a hug. 5.0.5 hugged back. He hugged back too much. Flug desperately slapped 5.0.5’s shoulder until he finally relented. Flug clutched his chest.

“Ow. Ok 5.0.5, you aren’t in trouble, but--”

5.0.5 flashed his big, dewy eyes.

“-- Don’t do that when I’m lecturing you. You aren’t in trouble. But do you remember the special signal we made up? Do it with me now.”

Flug patted himself on the shoulder once. 5.0.5 copied the movement.

“One touch means ‘Hug softer’.”

He patted himself twice. 5.0.5 copied this as well, having a splendid time.

“Two touches mean ‘I will be done soon’.”

Then three. 5.0.5 alternated between patting Flug’s shoulder and his own, now distracted.

“Three touches mean ‘Hugging time is over’,” Flug said. He slapped his own shoulder. “This one means ‘You are killing your daddy, you are killing your daddy, you forgot you’re a bear, please, for the love of God, you are killing your daddy’.”

“Baw!”

Flug scratched his head and squashed his cheeks. “Yes! Yes, that’s right! Who’s an adorable genetically-engineered mutant? You are! You’re an adorable genetically-engineered mutant!”

5.0.5 held out his arms again. Flug rolled his eyes in playful resignation. “Oh, fine! But this is only because we haven’t had a chance to play in a while. I’ll be grabbing take-out, do you want me to sneak you something sweet? Hmm? A cake? A cake for my baby boy?”

They hugged again. This time it was measured and gentle. Flug felt like he was cuddling a huge, plush toy, safe and warm. A home that followed him wherever he went.

Black Hat’s voice rang out from the bathroom, muffled from the wall.

“Hug him harder!”

“Sir,” Flug pleaded, “no! 5.0.5, don’t listen--!”

“Listen to your father you despicable creature! Hug him harder!”

“Don’t listen to him, 5.0.5! He’s a deadbeat! A deadbeat!”

5.0.5, delighted at all the fussing and unable to grasp what was being said outside of ‘hug’, increased his grip to crushing strength. His love was boundless and back-breaking. Flug struggled to breathe under the weight of 5.0.5’s affections and Black Hat’s piercing laughter but was finally freed, stumbling to the carpet. The laughter continued. It sounded forced.

“Love you too,” Flug wheezed. He used the bathroom, absently wondered if Dementia was actually going to shower or if she was content to schlep about her musk and walked back into the larger room, leaving 5.0.5 to his own devices. The opened the door to find Dementia holding Black Hat’s jacket. Oblivious, she rubbed the fabric gently between her fingers.

“So soft…”

She tucked part of it between her legs, brought her nose to the inside and sniffed. She bunched it up and squashed her face to it, giggling.

“It smells like him,” she said to herself as if setting down an anchor. A verbal cue she could recall to lend the moment greater clarity in her mind. Flug, disgusted, both with himself and with her for stooping to this level, cleared his throat to allow her some dignity. She merrily ignored him, sighing and rubbing her head on the fabric. Flug coughed. She giggled, not noticing. She licked the fabric. Flug waved his arms at her. “Dementia!”

“Oh,” she said, completely unperturbed. “Hi, Flug! Is the bathroom through there Ok? I haven’t seen it yet.”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Smelling Black Hat’s jacket.”

Flug looked at her, unsure of where to even begin. The hypocrisy ate at his guts. Black Hat coughed oddly in the bathroom, then turned on the faucet.

“Why are you smelling his jacket?”

“‘Cause he’s hot. I’d shove a red hot poker up my cooch and rattle it around until I made a slushie out of my ovaries if it meant he’d sneeze on me. What kind of cologne do you think he wears? Do you think he’d give me some?”

“No. Put that down, it’s not yours.”

Dementia beckoned him over. “C’mere.”

“Why?”

“Just c’mere. I’m not gonna put you in another headlock, c’mere.”

Flug narrowed his eyes. He walked over, standing in front of her. Dementia grabbed his wrist, peeled off his glove in a deliberate, careful motion, taking care not to break the fragile skin, then slathered his hands on the inside of the jacket.

“You feel that?”

Flug broke free from her grip and rubbed the inner fabric himself. A fine silk charmeuse but nothing out of the ordinary.

“I swear to you,” Dementia said, “it didn’t feel like this when he wore it. It felt like… I dunno, kind of like a tongue. Wet and bumpy, but cold. Like his insides.”

Flug pondered the unique nature of the coat and wondered what masturbating with it would feel like.

“You’re a doctor,” she said, “you’ve seen some weird stuff; how does it work?”

“I don’t know,” Flug admitted.

“But you’re a geneticist, right?”

“That’s one of my hats, yes.”

“Couldn’t you check the… I dunno, the DNA of this thing? Run tests?”

“I could, but Black Hat would never let me. He loves the mystery.”

“So do I… You know he used to wear a big question mark on his hat?”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Ditched it years ago. I asked him about it and he said it was too ‘on the nose’, but I don’t know what he means ‘cause he’s got no nose to be on, y’know?”

“No.”

Dementia poked at the jacket, ignoring Flug.

“Yeah, y’know.”

She continued her rubbing. She knit her brows. Flug went to ask her what was wrong, but she shushed him. Dementia spread the coat on the bed, smoothing out the creases, then slipped her hand gently underneath it. She pressed her hand upwards, raising the fabric around her digits.

“No, not there…”

She fumbled some more, her hand creeping and pressing upwards. Crawling, centimetre by centimetre back and forth, until she pressed in just the right way. The jacket draped around the silhouette of the Ghould, falling around its sumptuous curves. When Dementia removed her hand, the silhouette vanished.

“So the objects in it occupy a physical space,” Flug breathed, tapping his chin.

“That seems kind of obvious.”

“You can never be too sure with Black Hat. The coat might have lead somewhere else.”

Dementia shrugged. It was a fair point.

“Don’t tell him about this,” Flug whispered. “I don’t know what he’ll do if he finds us playing with the violin.”

“Pfft, duh. This thing is his baby. But this is cool, right? All this weird spooky stuff. You ever hear him do that voice thing?”

“‘Voice thing’? Do you mean… Speak? Yes?”

“No! No, it’s… I dunno how to describe it. I’ve only heard him do it a couple times. It makes my brain feel fuzzy.”

“It’s called arousal, Dementia.”

“No! Not everything I do is like that!”

“Most things.”

“Most things, yeah, but not everything. I’ll make him do it. It’s...”

She curled her lip as she tried to think of the words to describe it. The played just outside her vision, just outside her reach. She tossed to coat to the bed.

“... It’s… I think it’s something we’re not meant to hear,” she said, failing to find them, “that he does sometimes.”

“How do you know it’s ‘something’?”

“‘Cause he laughed when I asked him! It was nothing, he’d just roll his eyes and call me a moron, but he wouldn’t tell me anything! It’s like my bones shudder. What are your thoughts, science-guy?”

“We’re getting outside my area of expertise,” Flug admitted, “so consider this an educated guess. There are two options here. The first is that he’s doing something we can’t comprehend which would make explaining it impossible. Stuff that we cannot, and will not, be able to understand.”

“The eldritch stuff, right.”

“But he could be producing some kind of infrasonic sound, inducing resonance in your whole body and making you uncomfortable. This is the mundane explanation.”

They both gave each other a look, neither of them buying the mundane explanation but appreciating Flug’s efforts anyway.

“I think that’s why his voice sounds weird,” Dementia said. “He’s got to really fight to speak like us.”

Flug waved her off, dismissing her. “That’s--”

He stopped.

“... I think you’re right. When does he do it?”

“When he’s caught off-guard. I once caught him eating fishing bait at three AM and I thought I was going to cook. I blacked out for a minute or two.”

“If it’s something we’re not supposed to hear,” Flug said slowly, putting the pieces together, “and something he makes a conscious effort to avoid it’s probably very, very dangerous. Dead assistants are useless assistants, no matter what he says. Black Hat exercising restraint is a scary thing.”

“Tell me about it. No wonder his voice sounds so weird. It’s kind of endearing.”

“Terrifying, more like.”

“It can be both.”

They talked for a while. The pipes screeched as the water drained away. Black Hat emerged from the bathroom, damp and rejuvenated. “I really needed that.”

Dementia looked knowingly at Flug, throwing him a wink. “Really feeling your age, huh?”

Black Hat made an odd noise, somewhere between a rasp and a click. Odder still was the feeling it gave Flug. Like someone was gently pulling twine from the folds in his brain. Dementia shuddered, feeling it as well.

“Excuse me,” Black Hat coughed, “the hot water gets to my lungs. I just had to clear my throat.”

Flug went to speak up. Dementia threw him a withering look, knowing they wouldn’t get anywhere. Flug sighed. Black Hat looked at his scrunched up coat on the bed.

“Who’s been at my jacket?”

“Flug,” Dementia said.

“I did not,” Flug blustered, feeling like a child in the face of her pestering, “I didn’t, it was her!”

“It was him!”

“Her!”

“Him!”

“Both of you, shut up,” Black Hat seethed. “I don’t care, don’t do it again. Worse than toddlers, both of you!”

A heavy, shameful silence fell upon them both. Flug pinched his nose. What was he doing? He was a doctor for Christ’s sakes! A doctor of mad science, he could rewrite reality!

“I would be the cooler toddler,” said Dementia. Flug couldn’t help himself.

“Would not.”

“Would too.”

“Would not!”

“I’m the mature one.”

“No you aren’t, you’re stomping your feet like a child!”

“Am not!”

“Am too!”

“Enough,” Black Hat roared, his good mood gone, “enough! Dementia, slap him.”

She cackled, hitting Flug across the face. He tumbled off the bed.

“Slap yourself as well.”

“C'mon,” she pleaded.

“A direct order, Dementia!”

She reared back her hand, slapping herself off the bed and joining Flug on the floor.

“Now if you two are done with your schoolyard bickering,” Black Hat huffed, “we need to eat.”

Flug mumbled something in response.

“Don't speak into the floor, Flug.”

He turned his head. “What should we do?”

“Takeaway tonight,” Black Hat said, waving his hand. “You two need a decent meal or you’ll get sluggish. We’ll work on acquiring appliances later.”

They looked at one another. Black Hat shrugged. “So… What should we get? A pizza, or… Something?”

Flug was struck by the banality of this question. It felt surreal. He couldn’t have imagined Black Hat saying it even a week earlier, and given the look on Black Hat’s face, he felt the same.

“The pizza here tastes like hot garbage. I want Thai food,” Dementia said.

“Is there a Thai place nearby?”

“No.”

“How have you stayed alive up until this point?”

“Haha! Good question.”

“You know this place better than we do, name somewhere we can stuff our face holes.”

“I dunno. I went to a place not far from here years ago. Dunno if it's still open.”

“Fine, that will do. Flug, you’re up.”

Flug nodded. After taking their orders (as well as some very vague directions from Dementia) and being handed some cash by Black Hat, he set off. He double checked his scarf and goggles, traipsing down the hallway. The receptionist waved him over. She looked hesitant as if Flug was one poorly thought out comment away from snapping. “Is everything Ok?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Flug said, wary. “Everything is fine. Why?”

“It’s just, I, um… Heard screaming. Then violin music. Then more screaming.”

“Oh. That’s normal.”

“Are you… Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“Do you play the violin? Your wife?”

Flug fiddled with his gloves. “Grandpa, actually.”

“He’s amazing. But tell him to be careful. It’s a policy thing.”

“We didn’t disturb anyone, did we?”

“No,” she said, “but we get a lot of murders here. Junkies use the rooms to shoot up and stab each other, so be careful with anything valuable.”

Flug noted her warning with dark amusement. Flug didn’t want to imagine what Dementia would do to an opportunistic thief trying their luck. They would be torn limb from limb before the regret had a chance to kick in. “Oh,” he said simply.

“Yeah, I’m only allowed to say that after people check in. Otherwise, my manager gets really, really mad. But if you keep your head down and play ignorant when the cops come it’s not too bad.”

Flug pondered if he had any right to be unsettled by this considering he was in league with a creature that was potentially older than the concept of murder itself.

“Does it creep you out?” Flug asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “But I gotta eat. Please tell your grandpa he’s a great player. It’s nice to have something to listen to that isn’t all doom and gloom,” she said, motioning to the television. “I swear, world peace hits and this thing still won’t shut up.”

“I will.”

“Thank you, Mr…”

She checked the guest book.

“... Mr Beefcake.”

Flug couldn’t help himself.

“Dr.”

“Dr Beefcake.”

Flug disembarked with a polite nod. He pretended not to hear her shake her head on the way out, earrings jingling.

 

* * *

 

“I’m back with stuff.”

“God, finally,” Dementia groaned, clutching her stomach dramatically, “you took forever!”

“It was a big order.” Flug pulled paper boxes out of the bag. The smell tormented him on the way home. "Let’s see here. Salt and pepper squid…”

Dementia made grabby motions with her hands, barely able to contain herself. She snatched up her chopsticks and set about devouring her meal.

“Banana fritters… Aw, here you go, boy.”

Flug handed it to 5.0.5. He ate them gently with his hands.

“Don’t spoil your pet,” Black Hat sniped, “we don’t have the money.”

“Chicken chow mein for me,” Flug continued, ignoring him, “and an order of egg rolls and noodles for all of us, which leaves…”

Flug pulled the other three bags onto the bed.

“And, uh, seventeen orders of sweet and sour pork.”

“Lovely,” Black Hat said, rubbing his hands. “Did you get the prawn crackers?”

“I forgot. I got nervous after I asked for the pork. I could hear the staff talking about me.”

“Well, that’s this meal fucking ruined. Go on, give them here.”

Flug held them gingerly. Black Hat snatched them out of his hand, hard enough to sting. He grabbed a handful of meat, squeezing it into his gullet. Flug was torn between being impressed and nauseated.

“Are you… Going to use the chopsticks, sir?”

“Too slow, no point.”

“Are you going to chew, sir?”

“Too slow. No point.”

Flug considered his own portion and the fact that he wasn’t very hungry anymore. He ate anyway, scooting up his scarf to allow him to eat but keeping his face covered as best he could. Dementia tore her gaze from Black Hat’s gluttony, seeing if she could peer in.

“Leave it,” Black Hat said, catching Flug off-guard. Dementia huffed, returning to her squid.

“I just want to see his dumb face. I’m curious.”

“Leave it,” Black Hat repeated. Gratitude pooled in Flug, unsure of how to respond to Black Hat’s uncharacteristic charity. Cynically, Flug knew that he was useless if he had a breakdown and that Black Hat knew that as well, but he liked to pretend the gesture came from a place of care.

“I wanna try something,” Dementia said. She picked up a chunk of pork from Black Hat’s tub and dangled it between her fingers. Black Hat looked unimpressed, glowering at her as she poked at his food.

“I’m not a cat. Afford me some dignity.”

“Right. Right. Gotcha.”

She tossed it into the air above him. Some kind of predatory instinct kicked in at the sight of a moving meal and Black Hat snatched it out of the air with his teeth. He remained stuck there, in that position, lips pursed.

“... Fuck,” he said, profoundly embarrassed. “Fuck. Don’t do that again.”

“I won’t, honey-- whoops.”

She threw another piece and he caught it just as swiftly, swallowing it in one bite.

“Stop it!”

“Look at you go! This is fun, right?”

“Don’t do it again, I’m warning you.”

“I knew it would work, it works for me, too! Isn’t it weird? It’s like I kick in before my brain does!”

Flug and Black Hat looked at one another. Dementia tossed another bite. He caught it out of the air, leaned forward and slapped her meal out of her hand and onto the floor. She looked at Black Hat, hurt, then to her meal. She sighed, picking it up off the musty carpet and putting it back in the tub, scraping off the worst of the dirt. Quietly, she resumed eating, leaving Black Hat alone. Flug felt for her. Black Hat ignored them both.

“This beef is so cheap. It feels like I’m chewing on cartilage.”

“Do you want me to throw it away, sir?”

“No,” Black insisted, eating it, “no, I’ll live with it.”

Dementia spoke up, her voice meeker. “You’ve had tons of fancy foods, right? What’s the fanciest?”

“It depends,” he said, casually. “Prices and cultural perception fluctuate as time goes on. Lobster, for example. If I’m going somewhere, perhaps to meet with a client over dinner, I’m always plied with lobster. People used to consider them the insects of the sea, eating one was shameful. You may as well eat a roach.”

“You eat roaches, sir,” Flug pointed out. Black Hat shrugged.

“It’s novel when I do it. Society made allowances for me. I’m so entrenched in its makeup that people can’t find it in themselves to be truly angry with me, not really, even if I eat with my hands at galas and sneeze myself inside out at the derby.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Tree pollen, always flares up in Spring.”

“No, sir. Not the sneezing.”

“Oh, the allowances, right. Think about it. What would be the point in enforcing them? I could kill anyone who tried with a snap of my fingers.”

He snapped his fingers for effect. Flug found he didn’t immediately explode into a pile of gore.

“But Flug, be sensible. You don’t honestly think upper-class parties are filled with people waiting to be offended with arbitrary rules that don’t mean anything, do you?”

“I… Yes?”

“Your rich-boy heritage is paying off; you’re right. It’s fun, too.”

Dementia cocked her head. “Fun?”

“Oh, great fun,” Black Hat responded. “I certainly don’t care that the Duchess is wearing a gown she wore the year before and nobody else really cares, deep down, but when you have that much money it becomes fun to manufacture a scandal. If you mention it and you sound upset enough, then suddenly people care very much because how dare she, she can’t go around galavanting like a common whore, what will people think! Oh, the fuss I used to kick up over nothing. You get me an out-of-fashion gown and an improperly prepared goose liver and I can and will bring down a country from the inside with my ceaseless bitching. It's a sight to behold.”

“Meet anyone we would know?”

“Without a doubt,” Black Hat said resolutely. “Other villains, up-and-comers, lawyers. You know the sorts.”

“Lawyers are evil?” Dementia gasped. Black Hat cackled.

“Oh! Oh, I nearly believed you there.”

“I’m not kidding--”

“Any friends?” Flug asked, grabbing this rare opportunity for conversation by the neck and wringing it like a chicken. Black Hat scoffed.

“Never. Not that it stopped people from trying. I want the fun of pretending to interact, I don’t actually want the conversations,” he said, conversationally. “Eurgh, could you imagine?”

“I can see it, sir.”

Dementia piped up, raising a squid tentacle like a tiny, battered hand.

“What about you, Flug? What about you and your rich kid parties? Where you drink wine and… I dunno, beat servants?”

“I don’t do that.”

“What, go to parties?”

“No!”

Dementia looked at him.

“... Alright, yes. But my parents weren’t like that. We didn’t do all that high society stuff. I wouldn’t have gone anyway. We weren’t old enough for the old money and not new enough for the new money. I mean, can you even imagine?”

“One time I killed a guy for stealing my microwave pizza.”

Flug scratched the nape of his neck.

“I… Jesus, look at me complaining about nothing; were you poor?”

“Huh? No. No, I thought we were just sharing anecdotes.”

“Oh.”

“Killed some lady for smokes once.”

“I… Huh.”

They picked at their cheap meals. Black Hat, demonstrating disgusting gastronomic fortitude, was on his eighth box.

“You know what I really want?” Dementia sighed. “Some braciola. My uncle made the best braciola.”

Black Hat groaned. “I would kill you both for some.”

“Braciola?” Flug questioned, picking at his chow mein.

“Yeah,” Dementia said. “Little slice of meat, cooking in their own juice. You eat them with pinoli, onions, spinach, Italian-y things. Wait! No, I want dim-sum, the really good stuff. Or those cute little soup dumplings. Wait! No! I'm lying! I want sushi.”

Black Hat groaned again, in visible pain.

“It’s kind of boring,” Flug admitted, “but I really want a cheeseburger. A good one. With bacon and a soft fried egg.”

“Ugh, I hate hard eggs,” Dementia said.

“Just eat them raw,” Black Hat grumbled through a mouthful of food, “and stop talking about gourmet food, I’m still starving.”

Dementia looked torn, her eyes darting back and forth. “Most of me is saying that’s disgusting but some weird, deep part of me wants to do that. Lizard thing?”

“Lizard thing,” Flug said.

“Neat! I want a raw egg.”

Flug chuckled. It was easy to forget where they were and how dire their situation was when the chatter started. The paint seemed to lighten and the mould seemed to recede. The rain bickered gently outside, tap-tapping at the window. Flug took the time to give 5.0.5 a pat on the head, drawing a weird comfort from their situation despite Dementia’s floor-squid. Dementia gasped, turning to Black Hat.

“Ooh! Ooh! Have you ever had a cheesesteak?”

Black Hat looked confused. A genuine, innocent confusion, completely without malice. “Why would you put cheese on a steak? You’re supposed to have potatoes, some greens… Why cheese? When did that start?”

“The thirties? I think.”

“So it’s quite new.”

“Look,” Dementia said, motioning with her hands, “you can eat all the fancy food you want. You can eat your fish eggs and your fwee grees--”

“It’s foie gras, you idiot.”

“-- Your Mardi Gras, but you’ve missed out on so much stuff! So many things, not ate!”

“You’re trying to get me to slum it up, aren’t you? Stealing pistachios from idiots and getting stoned in some rustbucket van? Well, I like to think I have a little more class than that.”

“Not at all,” she said. “You like what you like. There’s no point in me trying to--”

Dementia threw a little of her squid in the air. Black Hat caught it, swallowed it, and cursed loudly. He slapped the box out of her hand like a sullen cat. Flug piped up in the commotion.

“I wouldn’t want all that luxury food. If you have it every day it just becomes ‘food’, I guess. How can you go up from there? It seems pointless.”

Black Hat, for some time, pondered this question is silence. “When you break life down to its most basic, primitive aspects,” he said, age creeping through his voice and unfurling into melancholy, “you may as well, because what’s the point of anything?”

Dementia nodded, chewing with her mouth open and missing his unusually despondent response. “Yeah,” she said, fighting through a mouthful of squid, “what’s the point of worrying what other people think? You just gotta do what makes you happy. Some people fish, some people paint, some people throw huge expensive parties and do evil stuff. You do you.”

Black Hat’s voice hardened once again. Flug glanced at him but they both knew his heart wasn’t in it. They shared an odd, tender look.

“Well said, Dementia,” Black Hat agreed as if that was what he meant.

They continued eating. All attempts at conversation were stifled by Black Hat asking for quiet during his meal. They sat in silence. Not in an awkward silence, the sort that comes about as small talk dwindles to nothing, but a straightforward, understanding hush, broken only by chewing and 5.0.5’s huffing. Flug found no uneasy space to be filled with babbling and terrified platitudes. It was simply a lack of noise. Flug wondered if this was camaraderie.

Black Hat picked at his meal, looking troubled. Flug suspected he was thinking the same.

 

* * *

 

After eating, talking and watching the television for a short while, they decided to turn in for the night, all of them exhausted from their time in the woods. Dementia and Flug played rock paper scissors to decide who would sleep next to Black Hat, Dementia winning with a masterful use of paper and threats to Flug’s life.

“It’s decided, then,” Black Hat said. “Flug, you’re with me.”

Dementia whipped her head around to look at Black Hat. “What?”

“Nobody with a brain would want to sleep next to the genocidal abomination who loves murder,” he said, “so I’m going by common sense. Loser bunks with me.”

“Why did you wait until we played to tell me that?”

“So I could pick the one that didn’t involve you in it for as long as I could get away with. Go on, skedaddle. You’re up tomorrow, take that fucking bear with you.”

Dementia groaned and stomped her foot but left, 5.0.5 padding out after her.

“Goodnight, Dementia,” Flug said. No response. “Goodnight, 5.0.5.”

5.0.5 darted in, gave Flug an affectionate lick of the hand, padding out again. Black Hat retched.

“Stop that,” Flug said, “you’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not.”

Flug rolled his eyes. He sat on the bed. When he glanced up Black Hat was disrobing. Flug had the sense to look away to allow Black Hat some privacy as if it would help, and when he looked back Black Hat was entirely naked. Flug choked. “You’re-- You’re going to sleep naked?”

Black Hat shrugged. “Now that we’re out of the woods. Nudity is such an odd taboo. I’m not going to change my habits just because you’re clutching your pearls.”

Flug considered clutching something else. He looked everywhere, everywhere except where Black Hat stood. Black Hat sighed, pinching the skin between his eyes. “Get it out of your system. Stare if you want. Then get over it. We're grown men.”

“Aren’t you embarrassed?”

“Why would I be? Go on, take a look. What, do you want me to do a twirl?”

He posed with his hand on his hip, laughing cruelly without an ounce of shame. Flug finally glanced up, thankful for the scarf covering his burning face.

“I’m not sure what I expected,” Flug admitted.

“Oh?”

“It looks… Reasonable? Not normal, I guess, but... I expected a huge mess, or dozens of hands, or a cloaca. But there’s just one. H-Hanging out. Being himself. Fitting in.”

Black Hat looked irate, cocking an eyebrow. Flug realized what he had said.

“Oh, I didn’t mean--”

“If you’re done loudly speculating about my genitalia I would like to turn in for the night. That reminds me,” Black Hat said, “sometimes I ejaculate hornets in my sleep so look out for that.”

“R-Really?”

“No, Flug. I’m joking.”

“Oh! V-Very funny, sir.”

“You aren’t going to sleep fully clothed, are you?”

“I--”

Flug wasn’t sure. Usually, he slept in baggy lounge pants, in case something came up in the night, which it always did. He, too, disrobed, stopping at his boxer shorts. Black Hat looked him up and down as if appraising a cut of beef, scoffing at Flug’s covered face.

“You still owe me a fist-fight. Care for another? Maybe a naked wrestle? I won’t spew this time, honest.”

“No, sir!”

“I’m joking again, Flug. You really take the fun out of this.”

“... Very funny.”

“Stop saying that.”

Black Hat pulled the covers back. He stared at the bed, his face contorted in disgust. “My bed had silk sheets and Egyptian cotton. This bed has exposed springs and a semen stain.”

Flug fetched the towels from the bathroom and threw them onto the bed to give them a buffer against the stains.

“Thanks,” Black Hat grunted. Flug waited for the insult.

They climbed into bed.

“How can you sleep with a top hat on?” asked Flug.

Black Hat removed it with an odd, wet pop, revealing a nightcap underneath it. The top hat vanished in a puff of smoke. “I don’t, usually.” He removed his monocle, itched the indentation it left on his cheek and yawned. Flug lay on his back, looking at the grimy ceiling.

“I have to ask because it’s creeping me out…”

“What is it?” Black Hat sighed. “The talons? The scales? The teeth? My cold, cynical heart?”

“Not really, I expected that. You don’t have a belly-button. I mean… Why? It’s such a small thing.”

“Oh,” Black Hat said simply, “I don’t want people to think I was ever born. I hate being confused with your kind when I’m not shapeshifting. It’s insulting. Loathsome little primates!”

Flug turned over, propping his head up on his hand. “You’re saying you weren’t birthed? You came about as a result of a ritual, a summoning, something like that?”

“I didn’t say that,” Black Hat responded coolly.

“So you were born, then? Are your species capable of reproduction? Your sex organs serve a purpose outside of pleasure?”

Black Hat laughed, eyes creasing. “I didn’t say that either! Species? You sound so formal, simmer down. I’m not a specimen for you to poke at and I’m not telling you until you’ve done your job.”

“Why did you laugh at ‘species’,” Flug continued. “Are you the only creature of your kind? Are there others?”

“I laughed because you’re whipping yourself up,” Black Hat responded. “You’re asking questions I’m refusing to answer but you think that if you prod I’ll let something slip. I’ve been around the block, Flug. I’m not going to slip up.”

Black Hat’s ego, Flug thought. What would win out, his love of gloating or his need to keep quiet? He filed it away in his mind.

“How can a place be like this?” Flug bemoaned. “The fire alarm doesn’t work, there’s mould everywhere and...” Flug looked up. Something caught his eye, something he missed. Brown spots, obfuscated by the mould. “There’s blood on the ceiling.”

“Oh,” Black Hat said lightly, “so there is. What do you think; beating, stabbing, gunshot? We can make a game of it. I think it was a beating, then a stabbing. A classic."

“I… Don’t really want to speculate, sir.”

“What is the single room like?”

“Better, but not good. The walls are thin. We’ll hear Dementia’s verdict when she gets into bed.”

Dementia’s voice rang out from the other room, muffled through the wall.

“WHY IS THERE JIZZ ON MY PILLOW?”

“I hate it here,” Black Hat said. “I miss my home. I want my bed. And my armchair. And the subjugation of all sentient life under my tyrannical fist. And a steak pie.” Black Hat trailed off. “Flug… Am I spoiled?”

Flug winced. He chose his words very carefully.

“How do you… Define ‘spoiled’, specifically?”

“The way the dictionary does,” Black Hat sniped, “you’ve just made your thoughts clear, anyway. If I ask for your opinion, give it to me.”

“If I answered a question and it upset you,” Flug said, standing his ground, “you would punish me for wounding your ego. You’re very...”

Black Hat looked at Flug. “I’m very what.”

“You’re very… Very receptive to critique.”

“Sensitive,” Black Hat cried out, clutching his chest, “you’re calling me sensitive! Great, you don’t just think I’m spoiled, you think I’m a prissy idiot, as well!”

“You’re doing it right now,” Flug said. “The thing, you’re doing it now.”

“No, I’m not!”

Dementia thudded on the wall, roaring from the next room. “WILL YOU TWO SHUT UP IN THERE, I’M DOING STUFF.”

“What are you doing?” Flug yelled back. “And you don’t have to scream, Dementia, we can hear you--”

“I DUNNO. I THINK I’M BUILDING A DEN. SOMETHING IN THE BACK OF MY MIND IS TELLING ME TO BUILD A DEN.”

“A… A den?”

“D’YOU GUYS EVER WANT TO SIT IN A DEN AND EAT CRICKETS ALL DAY? DO YOU GUYS EVER GET THE URGE TO DO THAT AND YOU HAVE TO WAIT IT OUT? YOU GUYS EVER HOPE FOR SOME WEIRD, SEXY MAN-REPTILE TO FERTILIZE YOUR EGGS ‘CAUSE YOU’RE PROBABLY GONNA DIE IN THE WINTER? YOU EVER SPEND HOURS THINKING ABOUT HEMIPENES?”

Black Hat held his head in his hands.

“No, Dementia,” Flug said. “No.”

“COOL, ME NEITHER.”

“You told me the splicing wouldn’t have any adverse effects,” Black Hat mumbled to Flug, “and she’s screaming at the top of her lungs about crickets and getting her eggs fertilized. You freaks won’t stop babbling on about hemipenes.”

“Mad science is an inexact science, sir. I told you there may be complications. Did you talk to her before the procedure?”

“I made a point not to.”

”As someone who did, for five minutes, I think she would say that anyway. But the lizard DNA explains her taste in men,” he teased gently. Black Hat rolled his eyes, scoffing.

“And what’s your excuse?”

Flug stuttered, playing ignorant. “Excuse for what, sir?”

“Your idiocy! She has the excuse of having a lizard brain be her actual brain. You’re just a normal, run of the mill idiot.”

Flug sighed in relief. Dementia hollered again. Flug suspected she was under the bed.

“MAN, THIS FEELS SO RIGHT. I REALLY FEEL GOOD ABOUT THIS. GOODNIGHT.”

“Night, Dem.”

Black Hat sighed. “Oh,” Black Hat said, casually, “before I forget. It’s polite to ask before your wear someone’s clothing.”

Flug’s mouth went dry. “How did you know?”

“First of all you just told me-- you really have to stop doing that-- and second of all you forget I’m not a normal man.” Black Hat flickered his long, thin tongue, smiling. “I assumed you knew.”

Flug took note of the prongs of Black Hat’s tongue. Gloating. Gloating won out.

“I thought you did that,” Flug admitted, humiliated and vindicated all at once, “because you like to intimidate people. I didn’t think you would have a vomeronasal organ. It seemed too… Primitive.”

“I’m not primitive. I wear an expensive suit and a hat. And like canes. To be fair to you,” Black Hat said, smugly motioning with his hands to catch the light on his scales, “I didn’t give you many clues, did I? No, you couldn’t have put two and two together at all. I have a very, very acute sense of smell. Very acute. Taste, too.”

“You smelled your jacket when I handed it back. That’s why you did that with your tongue.”

“Finally, you catch up.”

“Why didn’t you mention it there and then?”

“What, and have Dementia tear you to bits over some imaginary rivalry? Please. Oh, and don’t let Dementia smear her face on my jacket again. It stank of her as well. Worse than an alley-cat. I’m forcing her to take a shower in the morning.”

Yes! Dementia’s creepy rubbings masked his own! Thank God!

“I won’t do it again, sir. I… It seemed comfortable, I guess.”

“Isn’t it just?”

Black Hat nodded. He snuggled in under the covers, completely devoid of heat. Flug couldn’t let this chance go, he asked the first thing that came to mind. “How are you finding things?”

Black Hat grunted, tired. “‘Things’? Be more specific.”

“The human condition, I suppose. Mortality. Feelings. Eating beef with your hands.”

Black Hat looked appalled. “Be less specific!”

“I wasn’t sure what to call it.”

“Well, call it something else! Something snappy, or evil sounding. Just don’t call it that.”

“You didn’t answer my question, sir.”

“Well, I’m having a wonderful time. Look at where we’re living, how can I not? A laugh a minute! A riot!”

Flug gave him a look.

“Fine,” Black Hat relented, “it’s frightfully mundane. It’s all so trite, I’m shocked you’re all so obsessed with pondering it. Thoughts and sex and death and feelings, change the fucking record already. You’ve all gibbered about the same subjects for thousands of years like the little primates you are.”

Flug gave him another, harder look.

“Sir… How are you really finding it?”

Black Hat averted his gaze.

“... I hate it,” he mumbled. “There.”

“Do you want to talk about it? It might make you feel better.”

“No,” Black Hat responded immediately.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said, talking about it.

Flug continued to look at him. He tried to exude an aura of intellectualism, of academia, of knowing what he was talking about. Black Hat cracked.

“As a doctor…

Flug smiled a little under his mask.

"What do you think is causing all this awfulness? Just last week I threw a man into a pit of spikes and leapt down to join him because I wanted to punch him more. Not a care in the world. It’s… I don’t know. I don’t think it’s just fear, anymore. It feels like things have been magnified, somehow. I remember being angry, furious, boiling with rage, but I can’t remember the last time I was afraid. Or surprised. Or happy. But in less than a week I have cried four times. Me. Crying. If you said this to me last Saturday I would have laughed and hit you. I’m Black Hat. I don’t do things like that. Ever.”

“Feeling things won't detract from the awful things you do, or the awful things you continue to do. If anything, it makes them worse.”

“... Really?”

”I think so. And you only cried three times, sir. In the van, in the woods and in the van again.”

“And in the bath,” Black Hat admitted. “You couldn’t hear me over the faucet.”  
  
A dark, sinister thrill ran through Flug. “I… Oh.”

“It’s as if the things I thought were emotions were just thin slivers of paint on a dry brush, slowly drawn across a canvas. And you’ve somehow cracked open all the buckets of paint and shook them violently. But the paint is organs. Mine, probably.”

“We all fear death, sir.”

‘We’. Black Hat moaned, clutching his head.

“If you dare turn this into a moral of any kind I will top myself. I’m in no mood. I think I’m going to vomit again.”

If Flug offered a positive outcome Black Hat would feel more comfortable talking about these kinds of things. At least, he assumed so. Whilst he wasn’t a master of what made people tick, he did know that if you hooked a rat up to a machine that made them orgasm they would smack that button until they starved to death. People enjoy feeling good. It was basic. “Did you enjoy killing that hiker? Or that guy on the bike.”

“Immensely.”

“When was the last time you had fun like that? With a random person. Not a big, flashy plan.”

Black Hat went to speak, then stopped.

“... Hm. I can’t remember,” he admitted.

“So as bad as this is,” Flug pointed out, “there is an upside.”

“There aren’t many upsides to dying.”

They looked at one another. Flug hadn’t noticed, but they had crept closer as they spoke. Black Hat felt Flug’s body heat. He flickered his tongue. “Can you do me a favour?”

“I don’t think I have an option, sir,” Flug breathed.

“Correct. Don’t tell Dementia about this… This chat. You know what she’s like. I have a hard enough time as it is without her playing therapist. You, you have some sense about you.”

“Really?”

“Oh, absolutely. She’s a necessary evil, but she’s a bit player. We’re the brains.”

Flug smiled. Touched profoundly and sincerely. He felt like he could ask anything at all. “Black Hat?”

“Slys?”

“As a shapeshifter, how do you keep you… Well, ‘you’? When you look in the mirror and see someone else looking back, doesn’t that creep you out? How much of you is ‘you’, when you’re pretending to be someone else?”

Black Hat thought about this.

“Oh, uh, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Flug said, worried he had overstepped his boundaries. “I’ve just always wondered what it’s like. Being able to look like… Anything. Anyone. Fixing anything you think is wrong. I’m envious, I guess. I’m stuck being me. Which is great. I’m where my brain is, after all.”

“No,” Black Hat said, still thinking, “no, it’s a good question. I think if you were to give my powers to anyone else they’d go mad within the year. But I’m a malignant narcissist so I’m fine with it.”

Flug was caught off-guard by the candidness of his answer. “That… That helps?”

“You can’t shapeshift if you’re not. It will eat you from the inside. Your insecurities will pile up and ‘solving’ them will only make them worse. You’ll obsess over it. You’ll wake up and find that you aren’t you anymore, you’ve poked and prodded and preened too much. You’ll try to make your outside reflect your insides, but every time you do you actually chip away at yourself a little more until you’re hollow. Vacuous. Though beautiful. But it will never be enough to plug the ditch you’ve dug, nothing will. Keep in mind,” he said, pointing to his own face; sharp and reptilian, “I chose to look like this. This is my ‘default’, this is the face I show the world. I’m not the only shapeshifter that’s ever lived but I’m the only one that’s still alive. They end up offing themselves or being caught out and killed. You could set a watch to it. I know what I am, I know what I want, and when I skinwalk I know why I’m doing it. That’s not to say I didn’t do it for fun, or for sabotage, but a petty purpose is still a purpose. But looking in the mirror and thinking ‘my nose is too big’, that’s where the trouble starts.”

“You don’t have a nose.”

“Exactly! Think of all the trouble I’ve saved myself. Besides, look at you.”

“Me, sir?”

“Yes, you. If you had my powers and you could change yourself however you wanted, what would you do? A fresh set of straight teeth, glowing skin, fix a few of those acne scars on your shoulders--”

Flug covered himself.

“-- what would you fix first?”

“The burns,” he said, frankly.

“Well, obviously. That’s the boring answer. After that. Everyone has a ‘thing’. Fat thighs, awful teeth, a terrible laugh, something they just want gone.”

Flug didn’t say anything, growing uncomfortable. Black Hat looked at him wryly, knowing what pressure points to jab at.

“Even if you were a perfect, glowing specimen of a man,” he said, “you would still keep your face covered, wouldn’t you?”

Flug looked away, unsure how to answer. Black Hat smirked.

“You don’t plan to sleep like that, do you? With a scarf and goggles?”

“I do.”

“We both know what you look like.”

“That… That doesn’t matter.”

“It goes deeper than looks for you, doesn’t it?”

Flug chose not to answer.

“Who knows, maybe you would surprise me if you were to take up my mantle and parade about,” Black Hat admitted. “It makes monsters of men, after all, and you’re hardly a paragon of morality.”

Flug’s expression softened, the moment genuine and tender. Flug looked at Black Hat’s thin lips and his sharp, shiny teeth.

“And what does it… Make monsters?”

Black Hat laughed. He moved closer still.

“Men.”

“Why…”

Flug motioned to Black Hat’s body.

“... Look like that?”

“It’s more fun to run around like this. And a brand needs a face, doesn’t it? Don’t you think it suits me?”

“I do.”

“Then that’s reason enough. I like the way I look. I'm unorthodoxly handsome. I’m not of your kind and I’m happy to remind anyone that looks at me.” He chuckled. “Of course I’m stuck like this most of the time, thanks to you. You don’t want to see what I really look like.”

“Oh?”

Black Hat smiled. Flug noticed that his cheeks dimpled when his flesh bent to accommodate his gigantic teeth.

“You aren’t going to tell me,” Flug sighed. “Right. Of course.” Their legs touched. Flug went to jerk away out of shock but stayed still. “What is it like being so old?”

Black Hat looked offended. He answered too quickly.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Flug said, holding his hands up, “nothing bad. I’m just curious, sir. You’ve been alive a long time, you must have done so many amazing things I don’t even know about.”

“I have.”

Another silence. “That’s it?” Flug asked.

“I answered your question, didn’t I?”

Another duller silence. Flug, slowly, tentatively, moved his leg against Black Hat’s.

“What would I get up to,” Flug wondered aloud, “with a lifespan like that? I’d like to see how technology develops. We can do so many things already; craft fully functioning mechanical limbs, transplant pig hearts into human beings, make self-driving cars… And that’s just the ‘surface’ sciences. There’s so many manufactured diseases to be made, so many weapons, so many fun and terrible things to be invented. I wonder what would make me go ‘you know what, this is enough’.”

“It’s never enough. Even if you want it to be the case, you’ll keep finding things even as you tell yourself not to.”

“But everything must seem so… Boring. I’d go nuts.”

Black Hat looked weary. He scratched his neck, chuckling without humour. “There isn’t a lot left when you’ve surpassed everyone else. It’s not arrogance. It’s fact. The only thing left to top is yourself.”

“I can’t even imagine it,” Flug said.

Black Hat smiled at him, melancholy. Flug got a sinking feeling he couldn’t explain. “How do you do it?” Flug asked.

Black Hat raised a brow, his voice tempered in lassitude. “Do what? This feels like an interrogation, Flug.”

“Play people like cards. Like in the food court. Dozens of complete strangers eating out of the palm of your hand.”

“You’re full of good questions tonight. If you have a goal and the easiest way to achieve it is to wrap someone around your finger,” he said, “your first instinct will be to make your performance perfect, like you’re playing an instrument. Don’t. Your brains have millions of years of training regarding ‘off’ and nothing screams ‘off’ like perfection because it is unnatural. If you go in and act your heart out and nail every note of your performance anyone with a lick of sense would run a mile because no person acts like this. Leave a little to chance and work with what you have. It stops it feeling sleazy.”

This was it. This was what Flug wanted. Master and apprentice. Teaching. Learning. A simple conversation. He stared at Black Hat’s lips again, his breath heavy.

“But I didn’t see anything wrong, sir. You walked up and just… Started talking. I’ve left stores because I thought people were staring at me.”

The more exaggerated notes of Black Hat’s voice left him for a moment. For only a moment Flug heard him speak without the theatrics. It wasn’t the rasp of a towering monster stuffed into a suit, but of a very, very old man who knew how to get what he wanted.

“Humans, through no fault of their own, project thoughts and desires onto things that are incapable of holding them. Go along with what people want you to do, to a point. You can get away with murder if you’re charismatic. People love a beast wearing the skin of a man.”

“You say that as if I’m a monster too,” Flug chuckled, uneasy.

“You aren’t?”

“Well, I mean… I do terrible things but I’m still just a person. I don’t have to be possessed, or anything like that, I’m still a man.”

Black Hat gave Flug a look he couldn’t parse. Suddenly he broke into a wide smile, his eye half-shut from tiredness.

“Your performance with Dementia wasn’t ‘off’,” Flug pointed out, “and she got so into it, I had to stop her sucking your c--”

Flug cleared his throat.

“-- Uh, getting too close to you, sir.”

“Because that’s what she wants,” Black Hat pointed out in turn. “She loves the idea of a monster with a tender heart to nurse. She loves sleazy. Isn’t it vile? Cliché, too. She’s spent too long watching those cartoons. At least you’re too smart for all that mind game nonsense. There’s no point in attempting to manipulate you, you would catch it. You’re a genius.”

Flug lit up. His voice was soft, overcome with emotion.

“You see it too?”

“Of course. I’m very hard on you, I’ll admit, but I have to be. You can do great things. You’re certainly the most capable of this miserable band of villains, bar me of course.”

Move closer, Flug thought. Grab him. Do it. Do it. Fear paralyzed him. He couldn’t. “It’s hard to watch,” Flug said, trying to keep the conversation going. “I feel bad for her.”

“A little late for that, isn’t it? You shouldn’t be so free and easy with the empathy. Or is it only tossed to your own creations?”

“She’s not really wrong, is she?”

“How do you mean?”

“You were opening up to me about you, you know… Feelings.”

“Ugh,” Black Hat grunted. “I’m hardly a tender soul. Don’t go breaking out the drum circles. Now if you don’t mind--”

“Are you really missing an eye?”

“Will you ever let me rest?”

“Please.”

Black Hat prised the skin open, revealing an empty socket backed with pink flesh. “There.”

“But why? You could shift it back no problem.”

“I could. I do it when I’m skinwalking, I would stand out too much otherwise.”

“So you’re choosing to have one eye?”

“I am. I consider this my ‘default’. My most relaxed state of being. Me.”

“What happened to it?”

“I lost it, years and years ago. In a scrap. It serves as a good reminder.”

Flug could barely contain himself.

“A reminder of what?”

“That I’m me. That I’m the best fucking me there is. Now go to sleep, I’m tired.”

“But I want to know more.”

“You know enough. I’ve already indulged you.”

“Please,” Flug begged. Black Hat was too big a mystery, too fascinating a specimen to pass up, he needed to know more. “Please, anything.”

“Can you really begrudge a little teasing, Flug, if it keeps you invested? I can’t let you milk me for information and leave me to die. I need you to see this through. I need you.”

Flug’s desperation fizzled out. He was so touched that he didn’t notice the cold gleam in Black Hat’s eye, dissonant with the warm, honeyed tone of his voice. His rasps softened to a pleasant purl, like an encroaching tide, every syllable sending a jolt of electricity up Flug’s spine.

“Oh,” Flug said, softly. “Right. Of course. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Not as sorry as I am. Goodnight, Flug.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

"Oh. One more thing."

Black Hat grabbed Flug’s cock through his boxers and squeezed, moving his hand in a circular motion. Flug squeaked, covering his mouth with his hand, blustering and stuttering.

“Thought that would shut you up,” Black Hat said dismissively as he watched the inevitable occur under his palm.

“Sir,” Flug stammered, his body on fire, “what-- what are y-you doing--”

“What do you think?” Black Hat continued his slow, methodical movements, leaning in. “Do you want me, Flug? Here? Now?” Black Hat slipped his hand into Flug’s boxers. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“Yes,” Flug stammered.

“You’re not the first.”

With a little squeeze, Black Hat withdrew, rolling over for the night.

“Finally,” Black Hat said, light and airy, “a little peace.”

Flug grabbed Black Hat by the shoulder, desperate for an explanation. Baffled and yearning for more knowledge, more Black Hat, more anything, more, more, more.

“Sir,” Flug begged. “You can’t just--”

“I can do what I want.”

Silence. Silence and panting. Flug darted to the bathroom, slamming the door.

Black Hat slept soundly. With a puckish little smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banana fritters! spike pits! floor-squid! friendship?!


	10. By The 80's My Biological Makeup Was Seven Percent Cocaine

 

Flug had time for shame in the morning. The night, he decided, would belong to him and him alone. Flug stared at Black Hat for two hours. The slow rise and fall of his chest. The moonlight gliding along his naked body. That awful, tempting little smile. Some of the staring was for Flug’s own pleasure. Some of it to aid in his speculation, patiently watching an unusual animal for the sake of study and categorization. But all of it was luxurious to Flug, Black Hat’s merry mockery of biology sumptuous and infuriating in equal measure.

Flug realized that if Black Hat harboured a vomeronasal organ and his proclivity for tongue flicking wasn’t to keep to a ‘look’ but in fact served a genuine sensory purpose then there was a chance he harboured other snake characteristics. A capacity to sense heat, useful for detecting and incapacitating prey. A highly developed sense of touch, as well as a particular responsiveness to it. However, Flug had to admit it was just that. A chance. His examination of Black Hat’s sleeping face revealed no heat pits through which to sense, but this didn’t mean he lacked the capacity. Flug decided that conventional herpetology wasn’t a good benchmark through which to study Black Hat. Though he had many snake characteristics no assumptions regarding his biology were guaranteed given that he could change it at will. Flug had to wonder; were his forked tongue and sense of smell an innate facet of his being, or had he altered himself specifically to include them? Had his admiration of snakes come from a shared likeness and an extension of his self-obsession, or was it the other way around, changing himself on a cellular level to be like the creatures he cherished? Flug was conflicted, just as Black Hat’s biology was. The way in which he moved, ate, slept and lived were incongruent with any one animal and Flug couldn’t for the life of him figure out if that was a natural occurrence or an exceptionally unnatural one. He could, however, think. And Flug was very good at thinking.

Black Hat had the teeth and diet of an obligate carnivore. He derived no sustenance from other foods but liked to eat three square meals a day for the pleasure of eating. His teeth were sharp, but Flug noted no fangs as he gingerly peeled Black Hat’s bottom lip back with his pinky, taking care not to wake him. His teeth were not that of a snake, not locked neatly in many rows and suited to capture, but instead knife-heads jutting from his jaw for the sole purpose of tearing flesh. Piranha teeth. His gums were a little pale. He was probably, Flug guessed, developing anaemia.

Prior to the illness, Black Hat would eat one very large meal made entirely of meat once a week and this would be enough to sustain him unless he exerted himself shapeshifting into something horrible; particularly stressful broadcasts required an extra feeding. But the mere strain of existing meant eating like this every day. Flug suspected that if he were left alone and with no means to feed himself Black Hat would starve to death within days, his body collapsing under the strain of being something that, by all accounts, shouldn’t exist.

Flug gently grasped Black Hat’s palm, rotating it. His skin was squamous, cold and grey, but the skin of his palms sat smooth and pale. His nails were long, razor-sharp and immaculately kept, but had an odd, wan tint to them. Anaemia, malnutrition, heart failure, or potentially some combination of all three. His emaciated physique didn’t help, the illness chewing at his already lean body like gristle. Flug checked his breathing. Long and slow, as it should be. Flug, taking care not to wake him, placed two fingers on Black Hat’s neck and counted. Forty beats per minute. Normal when sleeping. He sat there, still, for two minutes, then carefully prised Black Hat’s bad eye open. Black Hat snorted in discomfort, freezing Flug in panic, but settled down quickly. Flug let out a shaky breath and stared at the inside as if it had somehow miraculously changed. It was still an empty socket, wet and soft on the inside. The flesh looked healthy. No discolouration or smell.

How can a creature fully capable of changing his body at any given time, for any given reason, for the pettiest whims there are, lose an eye? Why would a creature fully capable of changing his body at any given time, for any given reason, for the pettiest whims there are, decide to forgo it entirely? Even with an acute sense of smell, it was nothing but a disadvantage, and more than that it was a disadvantage that was easily fixed. Flug suspected that pointing this out and mentioning that they needed every advantage they could get would draw the same ire as requesting Black Hat peel off his skin like an overripe lemon and throw himself into a pit of wolves. It was entirely Black Hat, and Black Hat happened to be missing an eye for some godforsaken reason. All Flug knew was that he lost it in a fight. Perhaps. ‘A scrap’, as unlikely as it was, could have referred to something else. A fight with whom? With what? When? Questions on questions on questions, none of them worth asking because they only drew out more questions.

Something, at some point, happened to Black Hat. Something, at some point, happened to him so hard that he chose to surrender fifty percent of his vision to always remember the thing that happened. But he mentioned his eye matter-of-factly, which was strange for a man as hateful as Black Hat, free of bile or resentment. If anything, he seemed wistful.

Flug was going to go mad. He was going to go mad thinking about this. Even if, by some miracle, they all escaped from this farce unscathed with suits, millions of dollars and a bass guitar Black Hat could turn around and decide that no, he didn’t want to tell Flug anything at all. He would probably wander off and paint himself nude again. Black Hat was fit to burst with stories but derived a sick pleasure in never telling any of them to anyone. Instead, he kept mementoes, both for the pleasure of remembering and the impish fun of watching other people try to unravel him through fruitless speculation and deliberate half-truths. But the idea that no, perhaps he would tell Flug, was too tempting to resist. What Flug wouldn’t give for x-rays, samples and a thorough examination.

Flug had to stop himself from punching the air. Though samples would be unpleasantly sticky and ultimately useless as he had no means to analyze them, he could certainly perform a thorough physical examination. Black Hat, after all, had a nasty habit of popping open when he felt especially sick and with a kind enough bedside manner and a decisive air of authority Flug could get as deep into his guts as he wanted. Flug could peruse Black Hat like a book bound in snakeskin. He thought about their time in the woods and found his recollection of Black Hat's innards muddied through fear and adrenaline, certainly not enough to work from.

Flug found he was still holding Black Hat’s hand. He dropped it. Black Hat muttered something, scratched at his leg and snored. Black Hat had been rendered impotent by something numbers had a hard time quantifying. Black Hat fed on evil. It was formless and impalpable, its presence only felt through consequence, and what ‘evil’ was changed from person to person. But he needed it for his powers. The source of his painful, soul-crushing shapes, rendered in dimensions Flug couldn’t comprehend on any level, nevermind categorize. The part of him that was on another, higher plane. The part Dementia, to the detriment of her sanity, was obsessed with. Flug was not interested in this part. There was another, far more interesting side to Black Hat. Flug realized something important.

Whilst Black Hat had been laid low by something vague and shadowy he was a slave to biology through and through, even as he clad himself in an air of mystique like a thick cloak. Touting himself as an ephemeral god that sat far above the unpleasantness that came with being alive and dipping his toe in when he felt the need to indulge himself. But it wasn’t for fun. He needed to eat, sleep and excrete, as messy and unpleasant and primitive as any other animal on the planet. That was what Black Hat was underneath the cutting words, the black smoke and the finery. An animal. And Flug didn’t know what kind and knew that he may never know, but it was a thin sliver of knowledge he could use to pick at any cracks Black Hat left visible in his arrogance. Black Hat, even with the full scope of his hideous powers, able to shift and do things Flug’s mind couldn’t handle without turning to slurry, was an animal. Buried under the meat, the teeth and the clamorous, rasping din, the part of himself he tried to drown out with ruthless noise. A beast in regalia. A beast.

He was mundane. Deliciously, gloriously mundane. There were parts of him that weren’t mysterious and charming; they were tedious, tiresome and wonderfully unexciting. Sometimes he yawned, scratched an itch or picked food from his teeth. At that very moment, he was snoring terribly. A cold weight crept onto Flug’s chest, waking him from his drowse. Doubt? Hesitance? Fear? A mixture of the three?

Black Hat lay uselessly overly Flug’s torso, beckoned over by Flug’s body heat. Flug attempted to gently push him off but the contact with another source of heat drew Black Hat further in until he was draped, horizontally, across Flug’s body.

“God,” Flug mumbled in prayer for the second time in his life, “I know you’re not happy with me being a horrible, wicked man. And you’re probably not happy about, uh, the ‘wanting to sleep with what could be the devil’ thing. Or all those death machines. Or bioweapons. I’ve heard you’re not into people playing God, either. I’m not unreasonable. I get it, I understand. But if you’re gonna do anything in between not being real and giving people cancer, could you let me have some dignity? Please? A little? Don’t I deserve that?”

Black Hat rolled over, his penis flopping at Flug. His snoring grew louder.

“I’m going to build a gun to shoot you, God. I will shoot you for this. I’ll make a gun that fires knives. And the knives explode into smaller guns that also shoot knives.”

Black Hat slurred something. Flug couldn’t make out what he said, but the tone was not a happy one.

“What?”

Black Hat slurred it again, louder.

“What?”

“Sleep, idiot. Shut up and sleep.”

Flug attempted to push Black Hat again but found no purchase as he was far heavier than he looked. “Sir,” he said, “it’s hard to breathe. Please move.”

“No,” Black Hat mumbled, out of it.

“... What?”

“Warm.”

“What?” Flug repeated.

“Warm.”

He slipped back into a deep sleep. Flug made one last feeble attempt before resigning himself. He got as comfortable as he could, drawing the scratchy blanket over them both and leaving a small gap for Black Hat’s head, and tried his best to sleep. He closed his eyes just as the sky tinted and the birds began to sing, and when he opened them the sky was a lovely cobalt. He yawned, blinked again, and it was morning. He groaned, settling back in and throwing his arm over his eyes. Black Hat’s tongue flickered. Then again. Flug squinted. Black Hat slid up and stuffed his head into the crook of Flug’s neck.

“Really?” Flug mumbled, dazed. “Really? This is what you’re doing? You grope me, tell me to shut up, then use me as a heat-pad?”

Black Hat didn’t respond. He snored again. He was unpleasantly cold to the touch.

“Sir.”

Flug shook Black Hat’s shoulder.

“Sir, get up. I have to pee.”

He shook again, harder.

“Sir.”

Flug, bracing himself, pinched the skin on Black Hat’s shoulder and twisted. Black Hat shot up, confused, slurring and swinging a talon. “-- Death! Fire and death! Torch the fields! Torch the women!”

“Morning, sir.”

“... Where’s my chevauchée?”

“I don’t know what that is. I think you were dreaming.”

Black Hat groaned and rubbed his eyes. He dismissed his claw and flopped back down, still drunk on sleep. His faculties came to him abruptly. Black Hat remained still. Draped on Flug like a tossed plate of spaghetti. Their faces inches apart and the atmosphere intensely uncomfortable. Neither wanted to move first to cement what was going on. They stayed there, staring, stuck and embarrassed.

“Morning, Dr Flug,” Black Hat said, his voice high. “How’s the weather looking?”

“It seems OK. I couldn’t get up to check.”

“No rain, then?”

“I didn’t hear any.”

“Cracking. How did you sleep?”

Flug looked at the predicament they were in and then incredulously to Black Hat. Social unease demanded he lie. “Comfortably”

“Good. Good. I also slept well. I may be bad but I don’t want me to sleep… Bad.”

Flug blinked. Partly to clear the sleep from his eyes and partly to take in the unsettling spectacle of Black Hat caught off guard.

“And Dementia?” Black Hat asked.

“I didn’t hear her all night. I think she’s deep in her den, I don’t know when she’ll get up.”

“Oh, you know reptiles. And dens.”

“I do.”

“Good.”

Another silence.

“What about your miscarriage,” Black Hat said, finally finding his voice. “Was it shambling about in the night?”

“Don’t call him that,” Flug responded, an odd mixture of affronted and relieved. “And he’s our misc-- creation, he’s our creation.”

“Bah,” Black Hat scoffed, “don’t remind me, life is hard enough as it is.”

“Can you please move?”

“Righto.”

Black Hat moved back, sitting on the edge of the bed and clearing his throat. Flug, wanting to dodge any awkwardness, excused himself to the bathroom. When he returned Black Hat was lying down, his head propped on his wrist, cool, calm and collected.

“Sir,” Flug said, “Why did you cup my--?”

Flug choked on the word.

“-- My groin, sir?”

Black Hat raised a brow. He rubbed his bad eye, still tired.

“Why did I do what now?”

“You know what I’m talking about, sir.”

Black Hat yawned, his jaw stretching open. Flug spied, for only a moment, a snake’s glottis. Flug’s eyes narrowed in satisfaction and he smiled underneath his scarf. An animal. A scrabbling, filthy animal that needed to be bent over and subjugated by Flug’s own biological demands. Flug wished he were braver. Wished that the thought didn’t fill his guts with terror. He wished he had a spine. He sat down on the bed, making a point to be closer to Black Hat.

“Why would I ever do that?” Black Hat laughed. “I’ve had supermodels, Flug. Exquisite examples of men dipped in olive oil like they were being marinated. You have the physique of an undercooked pancake and I don’t think your skin has ever seen the sun.” Black Hat prodded Flug’s untoned stomach with his talon. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You’re pretending you didn’t, but I know you did. You’re trying to make me doubt myself.”

“Fine, so I may have given you a squeeze. What of it?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“I wanted to shut you up so I did the first thing I could think of. And I got to learn a fun fact about you.”

Flug flushed, looking away. “I was under pressure,” he said. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Black Hat sneered. “If you’re going to lie, make it believable! You’re insulting me. There’s no use hiding it. You want to plough me like an overgrown field.”

“No,” Flug insisted, his pride stinging, “I don’t.”

“Hm. So you don’t want to pick up from last night? Well, at least you’re upfront about it.”

Black Hat dragged his finger gently up Flug’s leg, stopping at his upper thigh and circling. When Flug understood he was being mocked he threw the covers back over himself, turning red. He mumbled something.

“That was rude of me,” Black Hat said. “I got your hopes up, didn’t I? I was just so sleepy. Perhaps if you hadn’t asked so many questions I could have done the honours, instead of leaving you to grunt away in the bathroom like an ape.”

Black Hat slid his hand up Flug’s thigh again. Flug pushed the hand away.

“I only want to help you,” Black Hat crooned. “Shall I just practice on myself?”

“This isn’t funny,” Flug muttered.

“To you. You can take a little ribbing. It makes it more pleasurable,” Black Hat faux-whispered, laughing.

“Why are you doing this?”

Black Hat crept close to Flug, draping a hand on his shoulder. He made a point to enunciate, hissing the ‘s’ sound to make Flug’s breath hitch. “Sex is pleasurable. I enjoy having it. Why do I have to explain this to you? Surely it’s obvious? Do you know what sex is?”

Flug stuttered. It took three attempts for him to finally speak. “I do.”

“Have you had it before?”

“I have.”

“And did you enjoy it?”

“It was... Fine.”

“I do a lot better than ‘fine’,” Black Hat said, slipping his hand to the waistband of Flug’s boxers and tugging gently. “Comes with experience, you see. I have needs, Flug. So do you. Don’t you think we could blow off some steam together? I’m more accommodating than you may think. Blind me, gag me, hit me, whatever sick little fantasies you have in there. You could even turn me down if you want.”

“I think you want the contact.”

Black Hat blinked at him, raising a brow.

“I think,” Flug continued, “you’re struggling for the first time in your life and you need the company.”

“Is that what you think, or is that what you hope? I’m done chatting. Join me, or don’t.”

Black Hat beckoned Flug to join him. Flug looked him up and down, throwing aside all pretence and pawing at him. Black Hat smiled, narrowing his eyes. He dipped his mouth to rest at Flug’s ear, grazing what little was exposed with his teeth. “Good choice.”

Flug tentatively grasped Black Hat and moved his hand, his palms growing slick with lubricant as the wet tendril squirmed between his fingers. He considered briefly stopping to examine the substance but suspected Black Hat would never let him live it down. Black Hat sighed, tilting his head back and opening his legs.

“Hurry up, will you? We don’t have the luxury of dawdling.”

“What about fondling?”

Black Hat made a disgusted noise. “Oh, hardy har har. Now is not the time.”

“5.0.5 laughs at my jokes.”

“That fucking bear is humouring you and we both know it. Now shut up. I’m trying to enjoy myself.”

Black Hat reclined again. Flug resumed, taking the time to look at Black Hat’s face. It was twisted, undignified and wonderfully ugly in pleasure. His eyes lidded and his mouth twitched into a dopey smile so unsuited to his hard, reptilian features that Flug couldn’t help smiling back. Black Hat’s long, thin tongue slipped coyly from his mouth and hung there as he panted. A low, rumbling moan, like a growl, crept from his throat as his cock twitched and wiggled in Flug’s palm. Black Hat cracked an eye open to find Flug both masturbating and examining it. “Can’t you wait?”

“I’m a scientist, sir, and you’re fascinating.”

“Well, shelve it--”

Black Hat’s eyes widened. Flug, emboldened, braced his hand to Black Hat’s hip and pumped harder, faster, until Black Hat picked up the pillow and shoved it to his face, letting out a long, high groan as he thrust and finished in Flug’s hand. His juddering stopped and he lay there, bewildered and drooling. Flug felt like a king.

“Does it feel more intense?” Flug asked.

Black Hat nodded and took stuttering breaths. He sat up, looking at Flug and his sticky hand. He gasped. “No, Flug, no, it’s deadly acid, don’t touch it!”

Flug tossed himself off the bed, scraping away what he could in panic.

“Fooled you,” Black Hat cackled, beating his fist on the bed. “You fell for it! Twice, I got you twice with the same lie! Oh, Flug, that’s priceless.”

Flug clutched his chest, gasping.

“Oh!” Black Hat wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Oh, you should have seen your face! I mean, I couldn’t, but I could imagine it and it looked bloody stupid!”

Flug climbed back onto the bed. He looked at his hands, then to Black Hat. Black Hat’s merry laughter fell away. “What’s wrong with you?” He asked.

Flug continued looking at Black Hat, his gaze scornful.

“Oh, right, the whole ‘burning alive in horrible agony’ thing,” Black Hat said. “That’s a sore spot. Are you still whinging about that?”

“A ‘sore spot’? A ‘sore spot’.”

“Would you believe me if I said that turn of phrase wasn’t intentional? Come on. I’ll make it up to you. Consider this my…” Black Hat struggled with the word. “My ap…”

“Come on, sir.”

“My apol…”

“You can do it.”

He sounded like he was going to vomit. “Apology.”

Flug sighed. He sat on his knees and felt self-conscious as Black Hat crept forward, his touch lacking warmth and heat. It was alien and thrilling to Flug. Black Hat brought his teeth to Flug’s neck and scraped them gently on the skin.

“Bite,” Flug said.

“No,” Black Hat breathed.

“Do it,” Flug pleaded, “I can take it. Make it hurt.”

“I can’t,” Black Hat said, “I’ve killed a dozen people doing that in bed and if I do it again I’ll be furious with myself.”

Flug’s romance-novel fantasies left him. Like letting the air out of a balloon.

“... Don’t bite,” he said quietly.

“Consider it done.”

Black Hat slipped his hand back into Flug’s boxers and tugged his pubic hair.

“Ow!”

Black Hat laughed, his eyes creased in mirth. He let go, massaging Flug’s cock with his palm. “Ever been with an experienced man?”

“Not… Not really.”

“Drunken college fumbles, hmm? ‘In, out, I’m done, get out of my room and never touch me again’?”

“Kind of, sir.”

“I’m being ambitious with the plural, aren’t I?”

“... A little. I had a boyfriend for two weeks in college but he dumped me for being ‘clingy’ and ‘desperate for approval’. Can you believe that? Him? Dumping me? Me! A super-genius! I’m not desperate for approval, am I? Am I, sir? I’m not, right?”

“Oh, Slys,” Black Hat purred, his voice sweet and gritty like old honey, “he’s a fool. I think you’re very secure in yourself.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Are you really--”

“Yes, Flug, I’m sure.”

Black Hat braced his cock to Flug and rubbed, slowly. Flug’s breath hitched, but he pushed Black Hat away. “Not… Not without a condom.”

“That’s fair,” Black Hat said. “I don’t know where you’ve been.”

“You… You don’t know where I’ve--”

Black Hat withdrew and smeared the cold fluid around. Flug felt something sharp along his inner thigh and he pulled away again. Black Hat looked at him, annoyed. “What?”

Flug pointed. “Your nails. They’re pointy and I’m afraid.”

“Oh, for the love of-- I’m a shapeshifter, Flug, you’ll be fine. Now relax as much as you can and close your eyes. Oh, and thank me now. You won’t be able to later.”

“... ‘Thank you’?”

“Oh, you’re very welcome.”

Flug felt a smooth finger poke at his ass. “Oh thank God,” he said.

“I’m not trying to saw you in half like dry lumber,” Black Hat muttered, working at his cock and coating his fingers in lube. “Give me some credit.”

A finger slipped inside Flug, then another, then--

“No more, Black Hat! No more!”

“Fine, whatever.”

Flug shifted in discomfort, tilting his head back and exhaling as he became used to the feeling. Sweat dripped down his back.

“Are you really going to wear the hat and scarf?” Black Hat asked, moving his hand slowly.

“Yes.”

“Of course… Bear with me.”

Flug took a deep breath, centring himself and focusing on the sensations. This was the pinnacle of all his sordid fantasies, Black Hat, the Black Hat servicing him, and yet Flug couldn’t stop himself counting the stains on the ceiling. It’s not that it was unpleasant by any means, it was that the reality could never possibly live up to the fantasies he had constructed and he knew that this would be a stark reminder. He resisted the urge to make small talk. Flug looked down at Black Hat nestled between his legs, his nightcap flopping and his brows knit. The image, compared to his image the week before, mythical and profane, made Flug laugh. It was easy to forget what Black Hat was capable of, looking like that.

“I’m not tickling you, am I?” Black Hat grunted.

“No, sir. No, it’s… Nothing.”

His cap flopped more when he was angry. It moved like a cat’s toy. “No, go on, what is it?”

“It’s just that… I don’t know, this feels nice,” Flug admitted, “but I expected… Something more, I suppose--”

Flug cut himself off with a ridiculous choking noise and a long, warbling moan.

“Ah,” Black Hat said sagely, “found it.”

Flug thrashed on the bed. “Oh my God! Oh my God!”

“You really don’t have a lot of faith in me, do you?”

“Oh my God!”

“Keep it down!”

Flug’s speech degenerated. He went to grab his cock.

“Leave it,” Black Hat snapped.

“But--”

“Leave it!”

Flug whined. Black Hat spoke, his voice a delectable hiss. “Do you know how long I’ve been playing the violin, Flug?”

The question caught Flug off-guard. For a moment he forgot the undignified position he was in. His voice was strained. “Hundreds of--”

Flug couldn’t finish the thought.

Black Hat braced his free hand to Flug’s pubic bone. His face bore the concentration of a man fixing a car’s engine. “Correct. And how am I?”

“P-Pardon?”

“As a player. How would you rate me?”

“Fantastic, sir. You’re probably the best on t--”

His speech fell to bits again.

“Usually I would call that flattery,” Black Hat said coyly, “but I’m me, and it’s a statement of fact, so I’ll let it slide. Do you know how long I’ve been having sex, Flug?”

“No.”

“Thousands of years. Trust me. I’m not saying that as an act of affection. I’m telling you because it’s the sensible thing to do. I’m about to make your decade. Another ‘thank you’ would be nice,” Black Hat said.

“Thank you”, Flug repeated. His body became awash with rhythmic, swaying heat. It wasn’t a sharp, digging pleasure but instead was a slow, building pressure that dipped and weaved and slinked all around his body and back again. Flug went to encourage Black Hat but his words came out garbled. He came around Black Hat’s fingers, every muscle in his body moving, shaking or juddering in some way. The orgasm faded away, but the heat didn’t. It swept out, built upon itself, then came rushing back in, harder this time. And whilst Flug was in the throes of the best orgasm of his life, Black Hat worked dutifully, in an easy, comforting sort of boredom. Flug couldn’t control himself. “Th-- th-thank-- th--”

His voice rose to a din. Black Hat cursed and shushed him, looking at the wall, then scooped up the pillows and squashed them to Flug’s face. For good measure he bundled up the duvet and pressed that on also, pushing them to Flug’s mouth with his arm. It muffled Flug’s high, open-mouthed yowl. The noise died all at once and Flug flopped uselessly back to the bed. Black Hat withdrew his fingers, his weight still on the pillows. “Are you quite done?”

Flug gave a very shaky thumbs up.

“Do you want more?”

Flug found the strength to nod like he was trying to detach his head from his body.

“Well, it’s all you’re getting for today. We have things to do. Congratulations, by the way, send me a card or something. But that was not an invitation to yodel what we’re doing to the entire street, Dementia could have heard that!”

Flug shoved the pillow from his face, his eyes glassy.

“I couldn’t help it,” Flug said simply. “I…” He laughed and found he couldn’t stop. The light came back to his eyes as he took several deep breaths. “Sorry. But I… Oh my God,” Flug slurred, shaky. “Oh my God.”

“I get that a lot,” Black Hat responded, waving him off.

“Oh my God, Black Hat.”

“If you’re going to have a post-coital breakdown and compose a sonnet about my sexual majesty, could you wait until later? We have things to do.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Oh my God.”

“Get it out of your system.”

“Was I that good?”

“No. Of course not. You were fine. You did as well as I thought a chronic masturbator with charred hands would do. You should...”

Black Hat waggled his hand at Flug’s stomach.

“... Probably wash.”

“Yeah.”

“... Go do it, then.”

“Right. Good plan, sir.”

“Can you move?”

“No. I can’t feel my legs. I can’t remember if I have legs. Oh my God.”

“I… Hm. You might injure yourself in the bathroom. I’ll go first, you stay there and… Recover.”

“I think I went blind.”

Black Hat stood, stretching, his head split open in a gigantic yawn. Flug took the time to drink in every scale, every sharp edge, every dangerous part.

“I will throw you one scrap of info,” Black Hat said.

Black Hat turned to look at Flug, his eyes creased in gaiety.

“‘Prehensile’.”

Flug made a noise like a slapped duck.

“Oh,” Black Hat said dismissively, “don’t tell Dementia. I would hate to wake up to you torn to bits and smeared all over the wall.”

Flug’s chest tightened in fear. Oh God. What would she do if she found out? “I would never.”

“I’m not too big on the idea, either. ‘If I can’t have you…’, you know how these things go.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Don’t mention it.”

At that moment Flug wanted to leap up, squash his body to Black Hat’s and hold him, comfort him. Everything seemed so soft and warm, the world fuzzed in afterglow and honeyed words. Flug stumbled to his feet and threw his arms around Black Hat, burying his head in his neck, giving him the closeness Black Hat yearned f--

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!”

Black Hat shoved him back, his grimace taking up most of his face. Flug blinked. “Hugging you.”

Black Hat gestured, offended and incredulous. “I know what you were doing, why were you doing it!” Flug’s brain left him for a moment. He leaned in for a kiss but Black Hat shoved him back again, harder. “What the fuck is this!”

“I… D-Don’t you want to?”

“What clued you in, the shoving? No, I don’t want to canoodle with you!”

“Oh. I… I got the impression--”

“Well, why didn’t you say so, clearly I’m wrong and you’re right. Clutch me to your bosom and kiss me forever.”

“Really?”

“No, Flug! You sound like Dementia!”

“No,” Flug reassured him, “no, if you don’t want to, it’s fine, I understand. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make this weird.”

Black Hat massaged his temples. “Why did you do that? What gave you that impression?”

“We cuddled earlier and you seemed so open last night, I just-- I don’t know! I’ve never had that with anyone, I don’t know, it was nice!”

“I’m cold-blooded and I was asleep,” Black Hat said plainly. “I moved towards warmth without thinking. You must have known that.”

“Why were you so shy?”

“I wasn’t shy, Flug, I was mortified! I can’t control what I do in my sleep and waking up in that position threw me for a loop. What did you think it was?”  
  
The issue, Flug thought, was trying to interact with any other sentient being in any capacity other than ‘I am a mad scientist with a laser gun and I shall shoot you’. “I… I-It’s-- we were talking about feelings, and you seemed embarrassed--”

“I was embarrassed! This is an embarrassing situation to be in! Are you setting out to strip me of all my dignity, or is this accidental? Do you think we have to get married now that I’ve shoved my fingers in your arsehole? Is this a fairy tale? Should I host a lavish ball and finger random blokes because there’s only one out there that’s just a perfect fit and I must find him!”

Flug wanted to cry. He could feel his guts churn in embarrassment. “No! No, no, that’s ridiculous, no. I just thought--”

“You didn’t think at all! Sex is sex, Flug. Leave it at that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It is just lust for you, isn’t it? Infatuation with an authority figure? With someone you respect? Lured in with the big house, fancy car and a fat… Wallet.”

Flug sat on the bed, holding his head in his hands. “Yes.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“Yes, it is. I… I think.”

Black Hat groaned. “If I had to stop the presses every time someone developed a crush on me then nothing would get done. Think whatever you want, I don’t have the means to stop you anymore, but don’t go pushing it on me. I already get enough of that around here.”

“I won’t, sir. I thought you would…”

“Reciprocate?”

They were deathly quiet. “I’m so fucking embarrassed,” Flug croaked, hoping the ground would swallow him up.

“How do you think I feel? I’m going to wash, just… Check the telly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Black Hat left the room, leaving Flug by himself. Flug yelled into his hands, slapped a pillow off the bed then picked it up because he needed it to rest on. He turned the television on but had a hard time making out anything over his own sense of discomfort. Black Hat’s voice forced him to concentrate. “Anything new?”

“No, sir. I don’t think they’ve made any progress into the mansion.”

Horrible screaming emanated from the television.

“They triggered the acid trap,” Flug said.

“When?”

“Now, right now.”

Black Hat skidded back into the bedroom, sodden and wearing a shower cap. The network cut to a different news crew attempting to brush past what had just happened. Black Hat threw his hands in the air, stomping back into the bathroom, every step squeaking.

“Someone melts into goo and I miss it, that’s bloody typical! Will I ever catch a break!”

Flug, despite his shame, chuckled at this. Black Hat walked into the bedroom, clean. Flug blinked and by the time he opened his eyes, Black Hat was wearing his top hat again, his cap exploding into black smoke as he threw it away. He began to dress but found his hands to be unsteady, his belt jingling as he fumbled with the clasp. “Damn it,” he hissed. “We need to torture someone today. I’m getting worse.”

“Do need help--”

“If you finish that sentence I’ll--”

He faltered, threats empty and pathetic.

“-- I’ll become very cross.”

“Right, sir.” Flug washed, dressed and left the room, avoiding eye contact. He braced his hand to the handle of Dementia’s room, knocking hesitantly. “Dementia? Dementia, are you awake?”

No answer.

“I’m going to come in. Please don’t be naked.”

Flug opened the door, expecting to be killed in a fit of jealous rage. The room was still. Flug sighed in relief, clutching his chest. He crept in and scratched 5.0.5 behind the ear as he slept in the broken chair. “Morning, little buddy. You sleep OK? Did she leave you alone?”

5.0.5 pawed at his eyes. “Baw.”

“Well said. C’mere,” Flug beckoned, giving 5.0.5 his medically required dose of head pats and cuddles for the day, letting himself enjoy it now that Black Hat wasn’t here to retch violently at the sight. “Wait, where’s Dementia?”

Flug looked at the bed. Nothing. He checked the ceiling, nothing. Flug looked at the space under the bed. In it sat a twisted mass of duvet and pillows. Dementia’s legs sticking out like two white knitting needles from a ball of yarn. Flug gently kicked her foot, grateful she slept like a brick. “Psst, Dementia. It’s morning. Get up.”

She stirred but didn’t wake.

“Dementia, get up. I’m not going to kick you in the ribs. Come on.”

She stirred again. Her legs twitched. She was probably dreaming about chasing rabbits in fields, and arson. A devious thought came upon Flug. He grabbed Dementia gently by the ankles and pulled her out from under the bed, dragged her prone body into the bathroom and carefully pushed her top half into the shower. Even after all that she sat there, snoozing in her underwear, drool bubbling at her lips. Flug’s mouth twisted into a devious smile as he turned on the faucet and bolted out of the room. He heard the hard slap of water on tile and Dementia shouting something incoherent as she stumbled and fell, cursing loudly. When Flug entered his room Black Hat was staring at the wall.

“Sir--”

Black Hat shushed him. They were silent, the sounds from the room over trickling in, water and clumsy thudding. The thudding petered out. Flug heard a thin, but distinct, ‘ow’.

“She fell for fifty seconds,” Black Hat said.

“I know, sir.”

“How do you fall for fifty seconds?”

“With millions of dollars of gene therapy and no brain cells.”

“Let’s not sell her short. Half a cell.”

Flug smiled. Black Hat, attempting to move past the awkwardness, smiled back. Dementia quickly washed and dressed. She walked in, her dress dishevelled and her hair soaking. “‘Sup, losers. And Black Hat. Oh, right, yeah, Flug, I came here to murder you.”

“I thought it was funny,” Flug said. Dementia stomped her feet.

“No! No, you don’t get to say stuff like that, only Black Hat and I get to!”

“I’ll allow it,” Black Hat said.

“What?”

“You really hurt yourself, I thought it was funny.”

“Ugh, fine! You’re lucky you’re so cute! How are you feeling?”

“Terrible. Today we’ll have a little… Excursion.”

Dementia clapped, bobbing from foot to foot. “Yes! I love those!”

Flug squinted at her, suspicious. “Did you wash?”

“Yeah, I washed.”

“With soap?”

“With soap.”

“Everywhere?”

Dementia scrunched up her face. “Um, I know how to wash? Just ‘cause I’m like a lizard doesn’t mean I’ve got the brain of one, ugh!”

“You were…” Flug winced, unsure how to tactfully describe it. “Proactive? You didn’t just stand under the water and call it a day?”

“Wait, what? No, the water does that stuff for you.”

Black Hat and Flug shouted in unison, Flug shaking his head and Black Hat’s serpentine tongue sticking from his mouth. “No! No, Dementia!”

“I’m kidding,” she said, holding her hands up, “it’s a joke. I’m allowed to make those, y’know! What’s the plan for today? The amoral agenda? The sinister scheme?”

“First,” Black Hat said, “we record my statement to the world. Can you do that from a phone?”

“Oh yeah, totally.”

“Right. Then we need to pick up more clothes, I’m starting to feel a little… Unclean. After that,” he said, rubbing his hands, “we make our new friend for the day.”

Dementia gave him a knowing giggle, thinking to their last excursion.

“We can’t upload the video from here, it can be tracked to this location. What we should do,” Flug said, “is make a new Youtube account with a fake identity, record the video, drive somewhere else and upload it there.”

“What are you gonna do?” Dementia asked, concerned. “All the footage was from the manor. We can’t record it here. This place is a dump. People will know something is wrong.”

Black Hat tapped his chin with his nail. “Is it possible to cover the camera on this ‘video phone’, but keep my voice clear?”

“Well yeah, duh.”

Black Hat threw her a withering look.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Then I might be able to spin this to my advantage. Generally, my broadcasts have followed a certain pattern. A certain…”

“Rich guy bullshit.”

“Yes. Breaking that pattern will put people on the back foot. But it’s a risk.”

“People will think that you’re planning a big, cool thing and that you have everything under control,” Dementia said, “or that you’re caught out and struggling to deal with what’s going on. And if it's the second one we're kind of totally screwed.”

“Very astute,” Black Hat said. “Where has this sudden competency come from? It’s scaring me.”

“I know everything there is to know about you, so I know when something seems off. I’ve left so many death threats over headcanons and stuff.”

Flug looked at Black Hat, panicked over their illicit night together. Black Hat kept his cool, not making eye contact. “Well, what are you waiting for? Make a new account on the electronic mail.”

“Aww," Dementia cooed. "You’re such an old man... “

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said, tapping at her phone, “nothing.” She pulled out a charger from her handbag and plugged it in.

“Where did you get that?” Flug asked.

“Stole it from the front desk. Life is easy when you’re invisible.” Flug looked over her shoulder to make sure she was taking the necessary precautions. “Ready when you are,” she said.

“Flug,” Black Hat ordered, “use your technological wizardry to obscure the room.”

Flug pressed his finger over the camera.

“Yes, that will do. Say when.”

“Action.”

“Hello,” Black Hat said, his voice measured and mellow, lacking the usual theatric inflexions. “It’s me. You may have wondered what I’ve been getting up to during our time apart. I can’t blame you.”

Dementia wiped her nose with her arm. Flug shushed her.

“I’m not going to give you a long and dramatic speech about the things I’ve done and the life I lead,” Black Hat continued, staring daggers at them. “I’m not going to give you a long and dramatic speech where I ramble on about all the atrocities I’ve committed, where I work myself up and pop a vein in my forehead. There isn’t going to be a big swell in music to tell you how big and dramatic and important I am. I’m not going to do those things because I don’t think I need to. I don’t need to add any lush little touches to what I’m saying, to let you know to be afraid of me. You already are. Of course you are. I’m fucking Black Hat. And I thought this cosy chat was warranted because my assistant, Dr Flug, set off the Peace and I thought you all should know.”

The world fell out from under Flug. His stomach twisted, he moved to protest but Black Hat held his finger up to shush him.

“What the hell is he doing,” Dementia mouthed to Flug.

“Because I told him to,” Black Hat continued, ignoring them both. “I allowed myself to become pampered. Spoiled. You’re just all so… So easy to conquer. All I had to do was put on a suit and say awful things and you all started falling over yourselves. It’s embarrassing. I wanted a challenge, so I gave myself one. Look forward to me cropping up and screwing up everything you cherish. It’s a lovely world out there. Enjoy yourself. Have fun. Go play outside, go to parks, go to shows. Go on, I mean it! Keep on marching forward, and take care not to look back. Because I’ll be marching right behind. Every step of the way. Riding the tailwind until I’m walking alongside and then, when you least suspect it, charging in front and dragging you all with me in leashes. So this is just to let you know that I am still here. And I’m still very, very angry.”

Black Hat motioned to end the recording. “Oh I love doing that,” he breathed. “Makes me feel like myself again.”

“Why did you do that,” Flug begged, “why did you tell people? My greatest failure…!”

“My greatest challenge, you mean,” Black Hat responded. “Owning up means we can spin it in our favour. You might not think it but I’ve just given you a lot of clout. This will sit in the back of everyone’s minds as they go about their calm, peaceful day. At least, the ones who aren’t busy.”

“Busy?”

“The poor won’t have the time, but I don’t really think they’re people anyway.”

“We’re ‘the poor’, sir.”

Black Hat gagged. “Incorrect! We are... Temporarily underfunded. Big, big difference. These people live in a world that has always had me in it, either ruling directly or off having my own fun. This will probably put them at ease in a sick, sad way. Like a disappointed parent.”

Flug found himself picking at the skin under his scarf. He stopped when he noticed, but he was already bleeding. He cursed. Black Hat ordered them outside, but Flug requested another five minutes. Black Hat begrudgingly agreed, giving Flug enough time to go to the other room to check on 5.0.5.

“Daddy has to go out for a few hours,” Flug cooed, feeling at ease again. “Will you be OK all by yourself?”

A bear. Asking a Kodiak bear if he would be OK. He was strong enough to decapitate a person with one swipe. Flug noticed the absurdity and chuckled to himself. “Remember, don’t answer the door to strangers, but if you do…”

Flug hemmed and hawed.

“... Or some very mean men in blue shirts with guns kick their way in, make it look like you’re going to tear out their throats. Curl up your lips into a big smile! Drool a little!”

5.0.5 teared up.

“No,” Flug said, quickly, patting his back, “no, no, you don’t have to really do it, just… Pretend! You like pretending! It’s like pretending to be a pirate, or when you pretend Black Hat loves you, no, don’t get upset, I’m sorry. You just stay here, nothing will happen. Here, let me...” Flug looked for the remote. He found it under the bed, in the furthest reaches of Dementia’s den. He put it on and flicked until he found a children’s channel, playing a song about the alphabet. “There. Don’t sit on the bed while I’m gone. I’ll see you in a little while.”

5.0.5 pawed at his leg.

“No, you can’t come.”

He pawed harder.

“No, 5.0.5.”

He pawed harder still, accidentally sweeping Flug’s leg from under him. Flug landed with an awkward thud and 5.0.5 licked his hand in apology. “No! Bad boy! Bad! No Muay Thai leg sweeps! Stay here, you’re grounded!”

5.0.5 curled up in front of the television, sulking, tucking his head to his paws. Flug walked normally out of the room, giving 5.0.5 a little wave and closing the door. When he was out of sight he limped to the fire exit, leg stinging in a dull, rocking pain. He couldn’t feel blood but it would bruise terribly. He waddled out of the fire exit to the van. Dementia sat in the front, so he opened the back door and climbed in. Black Hat gave him a nod from the waterbed.

“The bear loved you a little too hard, huh?” Dementia nodded.

“Yeah.”

“He tried to join me in my cool secret den and nearly crushed me to death.”

“He doesn’t know any better,” Flug said, his hands up, “he doesn’t mean it.”

“He’d actually be useful if he did,” Black Hat grumbled. “Let’s get moving.”

As soon as Flug closed the door behind him they skidded off, Dementia hollering. Flug battered his head on the door and slumped into a pile. “Dementia,” he begged, “slow down!”

“No,” she said.

“Dementia,” Black Hat said, poking Flug with his foot, “slow down.”

“Oh, sure. You OK back there, honey? You comfy?”

“I’m fine.”

They drove until they came across a small, out of the way café with free wifi (upon purchasing something, which wasn’t very free at all). Flug, being the most 'normal', was sent in. He bought a can of soda, found somewhere to sit in a corner and waited. After waiting, and waiting, and waiting, looking out the window and waiting, the video uploaded and he skittered back to the van to find Dementia chatting away and Black Hat looking suicidal.

“It’s up,” Flug said, climbing in.

“I spy,” Dementia said, ignoring him, “with my little eye--”

“I am in the back of a van,” Black Hat carped, “we aren’t spying anything, shut up! Shut up, shut up!”

“I am. I am and it starts with ‘B’.”

“... 'Black Hat'.”

“Yeah! You win! Congrats. So what now, murder or shopping?”

“We’ll save the best ‘till last. We’ll get some clothes, then we murder.”

“Ugh, fine! Brace yourself Dr Fuck, we’re doing boring stuff.”

“Insults don’t count,” Flug said, “if they make me sound rad as hell.”

“That didn’t go the way I hoped.”

Flug suffered under his heavy clothing, the humidity boiling him in his winter garb. He pressed what skin was exposed to the cool van door. “I wish I had all my sweat glands,” he said weakly as the vehicle shuddered to life again.

“And I wish I had a million dollars,” Black Hat said, “but life doesn’t work out sometimes.”

They sat in silence. Dementia had to concentrate on the road, and on maintaining a speed that could be considered ‘reasonable’. Black Hat and Flug exchanged a look. The air between them became awkward again, compounded by Dementia’s presence. Black Hat attempted to play it off as normal loathing, looking away and suddenly becoming very interested in the crude pen drawings on the inside of the van.

“I feel like a prisoner,” Black Hat said quietly.

Dementia glanced at the rearview mirror. “You want me to pull over? Get some air?”

“No, that probably won’t help. I… Leave me be, forget it.”  
  
“Could be worse,” she said. “I’ve seen how you treat your prisoners.”

The light returned to Black Hat’s eyes. Envy churned in Flug. “That’s a fair point.”

“Got any cool stories?”

“What?”

“Y’know, stories.”

Flug went to rebuke her with the fact that yes, Black Hat did, and no, he wouldn’t share them, but Black Hat spoke before he could.

“I do have one.”

Dementia oohed. Flug muttered something.

“If I say ‘captive’ then chances are you’ll think of, oh…” Black Hat gesticulated, thinking. “Someone in rags, chained to a wall. Bone thin, beard, rats. And it can be, sometimes, far be it from me to knock tradition, but that’s better suited to small timers. How should I put it… Incidental victims. The ones that aren't useful. It’s a well-kept secret, but sometimes, only sometimes… I treat my prisoners very well.”

“Really?” Flug asked, genuinely curious. “Why? Guilt?”

All three of them broke into laughter. “Good one,” Black Hat said, “I have such a reputation for being an indiscriminate torturer that it scares the shit out of them. Turns them into nervous wrecks.”

“Really?”

“Really! I wouldn’t believe it myself, but I’ve experimented with a few things over the years and trust me, it drives them mad. It’s because they don’t expect it, so you have to use it sparingly. Say, one day, I decided ‘you know, I’ve had enough of you’ and locked you in a damp, dingy cellar with only a stale loaf of bread and a bucket to piss in. You could draw some assumptions from that. One, that you are probably going to die down there. Two, I am going to torture you and I'm going to have a splendid time. Three, the time you have left on this miserable planet is going to be hell on earth. I’m not knocking it, not at all, but it has its place. But say you’re some villain that’s double-crossed me. Maybe you stole a lot of money or weapons, or maybe you quietly toppled my coke empire when I was too busy enjoying my coke empire to notice, Vidal--”

Flug looked quizzical. He held onto the door, steadying himself. “Are you alright, sir?” Black Hat sighed, waving him off.

“-- The eighties was hard on us all, what I’m saying is that if you act outside of expectations then you wield a lot of power. Ah, I remember, I managed to track Vidal to some castle bought with my money. Oh, you should have seen the look on his face! He started crying! And shooting me. What a laugh I had. I had him drugged and brought to the manor like a shot boar.” Black Hat mimed putting his hands behind his back. “Hogtied, as well, all his men killed. I’m assuming his associates all washed their hands the second they caught wind of me. He was well and truly on his own.”

“Yeah,” Dementia shuddered. “Pissing you off when you were in your prime? Man, that’s a scary thought.”

“Thank you for reminding me,” Black Hat muttered. “‘In my prime’. I’m ageless, I’m always in my prime.”

Dementia and Flug sucked in air through their teeth.

“What?” Black Hat asked. “What, what’s wrong with that?”

“Maybe not… Ageless,” Flug said, his palms pressed together. “Immortal, yes. Ageless, ah...”

“They’re the same thing.”

Dementia and Flug made conflicted oohing and ahhing noises, tilting their heads.

“As I was saying,” Black Hat continued, speaking over them, “he was taken to a guest bedroom. An en suite, comfortable bed, nicely appointed. Armed guards posted outside. I walked in, bid him a good evening and told him that if he needed anything; food, a drink, some more pillows, a book to pass the time, then he could ring the little bell by his bedside and one of the menials would fetch it for him.”

“And?” Dementia asked.

A grin split Black Hat’s face. “Terrified. He woke up in a lovely bedroom, he could eat as much lovely food as he wanted and take long, luxurious baths, and he burst into tears again! He started stammering apologies, ‘oh, please, I have children, I have a wife’. I ignored them all! It made him cry harder. I ordered the cook to prepare three meals a day for him but under one condition. Make the food look strange.”

“Strange, sir?” Flug asked, confused. “Strange how?”

“Poisoned. A drop of food colouring here and there, a little extra water to make the sauce look odd. But the meal had to be clean, that was important. Breakfast at eight, lunch at twelve, dinner at six; he took none of them. The plates came back full every time. Eventually, he had to eat. But the stress made him puke constantly.”

“Holy shit,” Dementia said. “That’s… Wow, that’s brutal. He freaked out about poison, so he stressed, which made him sick, which made him freak out about poison...”

“Don’t tell me you’ve grown a conscience!”

“No, I’m impressed!”

Black Hat placed a hand on his chest, smug. The look made Flug’s stomach flutter.

“As you should be! Eventually, I invited him to dine with me. I had a suit measured for him, lit some candles and we had a cosy chat over lamb loin, aubergines and merlot. He still didn’t eat.”

Flug saw Dementia’s brows furrow in the rearview mirror. “What’s an aubergine?” she asked.

“Oh, right,” Black Hat said. “'Eggplant'.”

“What’s an eggplant?”

“A purple vegetable.”

“What’s a vegetable?”

“The things you need to be force-fed to stop you from getting scurvy. Again.”

“Ugh, that was one time!”

“What were you saying, sir?” Flug asked, knowing that if they got onto the topic of Dementia’s mishaps they might never leave. Black Hat nodded at him, grateful, the look lingering.

“Ah, yes, our chat. I asked him how he was feeling and he responded by begging me to let him go. I asked about his wife and he promised to pay me back the money he stole, in fact, he would triple it. I asked about his children and he broke down and begged me to let him use a phone. I ate my lamb, which was delicious, and mentioned that he didn’t need to tell me about any of those things. I’m a gentleman, I don’t ask unwanted questions. So I told him how his family were doing instead. His wife, thirty-seven years old, sat on the board of directors of a successful cosmetics company. She was staying at her sister’s and missing him terribly. I told him that his children attended a private boarding school, eighty thousand francs a year, and that their exams were looming on the horizon; biology on Thursday at twelve o’clock, mathematics on Friday at one. I never was one for the sciences,” Black Hat admitted, with a light, cheerful tone. “I dabble, but I consider myself a creative. I told him about all the terrible, terrible things I could do to every one of them and the things I had already done in his absence, painting a lush picture as I drank. Lastly, I told him that if he had any brain cells left in that junkie head of his he should think very, very carefully about all the things I had left to do. I finished my meal and offered him a night-cap, but he declined. This was a shame because I was going to tell him that I lied and that they were fine because they were. But I can't stand it when people are rude to me.”

Flug sat in awe of Black Hat’s wickedness, made worse for the genial nature of it. Plumbing the depths of iniquity over dinner and wine, relishing every moment. Black Hat spoke gleefully, delighting in every word he spooled between his teeth. “The second he was escorted to his room he killed himself. He stuck his tongue between his teeth, braced his chin to the bedpost and smashed his face against it again, and again, and again. He snapped his tongue broke his teeth, caved in the roof of his mouth and choked to death on the blood, bone and loose flesh. It’s a tortuous death. He suffered for hours before he died. I had an armed guard regale me with it.”

Flug saw a look he recognized. The same post-coital bliss from earlier, of absolute satisfaction. His smile was sincere, his eye soft. Flug’s breath quickened.

“Oh, well, I was just torn up,” Black Hat said. “Here I am, being the perfect host; luxury food, hundred-year-old wine and the most comfortable bed money can buy, but he would rather kill himself than accept my gracious hospitality! My feelings, well and truly hurt! But I imagined how his poor widow must have felt. I did the decent thing and sent her a bouquet of flowers and a note expressing my deepest sympathies.”

“Flowers?” Dementia asked, aware he was cooking something up.

“The usual ‘sorry your husband snuffed it’ bunch. Rose, lily, lavender…” Black Hat looked coy. “Houndstongue. Then I sent her his real tongue and left them to it. It was quite the experiment. All I had to do was sit there and be cordial,” he laughed, “and he tortured himself to death on my behalf! I thought that was so polite, I made sure to include it in the letter. ‘Absolutely top-notch self-mutilation from your hubby. Always thought the coke would cave his nose in before he did'.”

They sat in contemplative silence, amazed and horrified all at once. Dementia let out a low whistle. “That’s… Huh. Wow.”

“Isn’t it just awful,” Black Hat beamed, his face twisted in pleasure. “I gave myself the week off for that one.”

“Do you think I could learn to do stuff like that?”

“If you’ve got the will. You're already shaping up to be a horrible monster."

"Aw, stop it!"

"As fantastic as I am, I’m not bragging for the sake of it. This is useful information. Both of you need to brush up. If you have any--”

Black Hat looked pointedly at Flug, unwilling to tolerate any nagging.

“-- General questions about the art of being a bastard you can ask them. I’ll help when I can. The stronger you are, the stronger I’ll be.”

Dementia made an excited squealing noise and clapped giddily. The van screeched before she regained control of the wheel. “Whoops, haha! Almost died!”

“Don’t do that again,” Black Hat barked, “and stop giggling like schoolgirls, this is pragmatic.”

Dementia could barely contain herself, bobbing in her seat. “I was thinking--”

“Debatable,” Black Hat grunted, “but continue.”

“-- Torture’s not really ‘useful’, right? People will say whatever they have to if they’re in pain, so should it be in the toolbox of evil at all if it makes things harder?”

Black Hat nodded. “No. It’s not effective as a way of gathering information. The threat of torture works, sometimes, but if you’re getting down to the nitty gritty it’s because you’re going to off the bastard or you’ve found a new plaything to occupy your time. But it’s good for blowing off steam, that’s not to be underestimated. A fine question. A lot of underlings don’t think to wonder about that.”

“I have another question.”

“By all means.”

“Will you piss in me?”

Black Hat made that awful noise again, between a rasp and a click, but the volume of it made it resound like the tolling of a bell. Dementia winced, gritting her teeth, whilst Flug cried out and clutched his skull at the hideous pressure. As quickly as it started it stopped and Black Hat covered his mouth as if coughing. His voice was even and measured. “... Question time is over.”

“But I have a--” Flug said.

“Question time is over, she ruined it.”

They sat in silence again. Their trip to the thrift store was haphazard and unexciting, picking up whatever they could and leaving Black Hat in the van as shapeshifting was too stressful in his current condition. They resumed their positions. As they drove to find somewhere quiet to plan, the van skidded to a halt on a road flanked by trees, not far from their initial campsite. Flug bashed his head on the door whilst Black Hat steadied himself.

“Dementia,” Black Hat shouted, “learn to slow down, for fuck’s sakes! You could have hurt me!”

“She did hurt me,” Flug whined.

“Yes, whatever.”

“Hitchhiker,” Dementia babbled, pointing to a young woman by the roadside. “Hitchhiker!”

Black Hat beamed back at her. Flug looked between them as they bounced like eager puppies. “On the count of three. One.”

Dementia leapt out of the van and broke into a sprint. She tackled the woman, launching on top of her and pummeling her skull. Black Hat threw open the door, turning to Flug before he went. “Want to join us?”

“No thank you, sir.”

“What do you mean, no? Going to town on some poor idiot was the highlight of your week back in the lab. You can use your new toy.”

"A stolen hunting knife isn't the same as a scalpel, sir."

Flug peered out of the van. The woman escaped Dementia’s grip and kicked her in the groin, sending her reeling back. “Motherfucker, ow!”

“Ooh,” Black Hat said, “I like the feisty ones. Look at it go, I think it knows martial arts.”

“It’s OK, sir. I’m fine here.”

Black Hat looked at him quizzically, breaking into laughter. “You don’t want to get hurt! It’s three to one, but with Dementia here it’s more like fifty to half. You're not in danger. A few bumps and bruises at worst.”

“I’ll take my chances here. Maybe… Maybe next time. When my leg isn’t so painful.”

Black Hat laughed again, tinged with contempt. “Coward! You won’t always have the luxury of a gurney and straps, Flug. Do something useful, at least. Do push-ups. Think of me under you if it helps.”

“Sir,” Flug hissed.

“She can’t hear us.”

A sickening crunch echoed to the van. Dementia flopped the body of the crippled woman in her hands like a crunching ragdoll. “Aw, hell. How do you fix a broken neck? You move the spine around a bunch, right?”

“Dementia, you moron,” Black Hat hollered back, “how am I meant to get my fill of horrible torture if you just suplex them to death! Unbelievable, that thing better be breathing or I’ll torture you!”

“Please do.”

He stomped off, waving his arms at her. “Eurgh! Haul it into the forest, we can’t do this here.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They wandered off into the woods. Flug pulled the waterbed to the van’s door and let his legs hang out over the side. It was a muggy day. He removed his scarf and hat, desperate for fresh air, filling his lungs to burst with it. He reclined, closed his eyes, and breathed. He heard screaming in the distance, backed with loud, merry laughter. The hour passed quickly, the shrieking incessant and piercing. Flug thought about his life. About his studies, about his boss, about Dementia, about his parents and about kissing Black Hat. Holding him. Comforting him. Flug covered his face with his hands and groaned. What was he doing? Getting all gooey over a one night stand? Was his need to be needed that strong?

… It was probably going to be more than that. Friends with benefits? Black Hat would never call them friends, but even he couldn’t deny that the circumstances forced him to be more amicable with his underlings. It was… Something. Something with benefits.

Flug had the single room that night. Dementia would bunk with Black Hat. The thought made him viciously angry yet he knew he had no right to be. The fact he was angrier than Dementia enraged him further, both because it wounded his dignity and because Dementia thought so little of him that she hadn’t even considered Flug to be a romantic rival. He thought about how satisfying it would be to tell her what he had done, even if it resulted in his death. Dr Flug became Dr Smug.

The shrieking petered out to a wet warble, then fell away. Flug took this as the cue to don his coverings, and just as he finished Dementia and Black Hat reappeared looking absolutely delighted with themselves. Dementia looked clean but Black Hat’s sleeves were rolled up and his arms were drenched in blood. He sucked his fingers clean, his long tongue winding and unwinding. “Let’s get a move on. Flug, you’re up.”

“Right.”

Flug climbed in the front, Dementia and Black Hat in the back and out of sight. After carefully adjusting the wing mirrors to an exasperated ‘really?’, he drove. Black Hat and Dementia chit chatted in the back, reliving the thrill of the hunt. “Still can’t believe you broke a neck,” Black Hat grumbled. “It’s amazing what people can survive.”

“Hey, I’m not used to this! You send me out to kill quickly, remember? You’re making fun of me for being too good at what I do, snookums.”

“Oh. Oh, don’t call me that. I was having such a good time.”

“My cute little cobra.”

“I’m neither cute nor little!”

“I could go on and o--”

“We’re here,” Flug said sharply.

They arrived at the hotel. Black Hat snuck in through the fire door, taking care not to be seen, but Flug and Dementia chose to take the front entrance to avoid any suspicion. They linked arms, as married couples do, but stopped outside the door. “... D’you think she’s suspicious of us? The receptionist?” Dementia asked.

“Suspicious of what,” Flug asked, terser than he intended.

“The sham marriage.”

“I don’t think so,” Flug said. “We did tell her I wasn’t gay. She’s got to believe that.”

“I know. We sold that pretty hard. But did we sell it hard enough?”

“I’m worried. You’ve made me worried. I thought we did it, but now I’m worried.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Dementia said, confident. “I’ve got a plan. She’ll totally buy that we’re married and in love, or whatever. I did this with my ex-boyfriends all the time.”

“You’re sure?”

“Totally.”

They put Dementia’s plan into action. They strutted by, Flug awkwardly cupping Dementia’s breast over her dress with a mitten and struggling to hide his discomfort. They looked the woman in the eye. “Good day,” they said in unison.

"Fine day for titty," Flug said, as instructed.

The woman held her head in her hands. Suspicion masterfully dodged, they made their way down the hallway to their room.

Black Hat stood at the door having just witnessed their charade. A vein throbbed in his neck. “Are you serious? Is this a piss-take? I leave you unattended for two minutes and--” He took a deep breath. He paced up and down the hallway, his voice quieter but his hands shaking. “I can’t keep doing this,” he said to himself, “I’m going to have a fucking heart attack. Just… Hold hands, or something, for fuck’s sakes. You know what the chances are that both of you are complete social fuckups? Statistically? Low. So I’d like to congratulate you both on beating the odds, you’ve sure shown me.”

“Aww,” Dementia gushed, “thank you!”

“Don’t take that as a compliment you vapid slut.”

“That’s so sweet!”

Black Hat’s self-control wavered. “‘Vapid’ isn’t good-- you’re just hearing whatever you want to fucking hear, let’s just get in the room and take stock of our situation. Flug, attend to your burden.”

Flug peeped his head into the single room. 5.0.5 was quietly watching cartoons.

They gathered around the television set in the larger room, their potential doom waiting.

“This is it,” Black Hat said, “make or break.”

Dementia motioned for them to hold hands. Flug took her hand without thinking, leaving only Black Hat out.

“No,” he said, "stop that. I'm not holding your hands."

His talon hovered over the power button. With the grim finality of a man pressing a gun to his head, he tapped it. A headline scrolled across the news ticker as utter chaos unfolded in front of them.

‘BLACK HAT ADMITS TO SETTING OFF WORLD PEACE, EARNS TITLE OF ‘GREATEST HERO ALIVE’. NEWSROOM STAFF SOBBING IN CONFUSION’

“Yes!” Black Hat whooped, punching the air. “Yes, yes, yes, get in! Get-fucking-in! Yes! I fucking knew it would pay off, you doubted me!” He punched the air again for good measure, his teeth grit. “Fucking! Yes! They’re terrorized, they fear me, they always will!”

“I’m so ready to ‘get in’,” Dementia said. “No idea what, or where, but I’ll do it! I’m so ready!” She joined Black Hat in whooping. They found themselves linking elbows and jumping.

“Oh thank God,” Flug said, softly, pacing around the room.

“I think we should celebrate,” Black Hat hollered, grabbing and pulling out the Ghould from his coat. “A letter.”

“P,” Dementia said, her eyes narrowing in demented glee.

“You fiend. You’re trying to get me to play Paganini, aren’t you? One of the Caprices?”

She held her hands up, the air light and jubilant.

“You got me! I know you can’t resist showing off. Unless you’re not skilled enough.”

“You’re baiting me. You’re trying to wound my ego to ‘trick’ me. Well, Dementia, I can assure you that I would play it anyway, even without your clumsy mind-games. A number between one and tw--”

“Twenty-Four.”

With a wicked cackle, Black Hat bowed. “Twenty four it is! I’m in the mood for a fast one.”

Flug shifted uncomfortably. Black Hat started, his magnificent playing emboldened by his mood. Flug’s jaw dropped when Black Hat spoke as he played.

“I’m shocked you, Dementia, of all people, have an ear for classical music.”

“Uh, ‘ear’ is too strong,” she admitted, entranced. “But I do play the guitar, y’know! I'm pretty good, too! I got put in classes when I was a little baby lizard girl. A lizlet.”

"'Hatchling'," Flug corrected.

"Lizlet."

“Hold on," Black Hat said, "you’re classically trained? You?”

“Totally," Dementia responded. "I mean I’m no master, rock music is way cooler, but you can’t really forget that stuff. I ended up dropping out of lessons and doing my own thing but the muscle memory sticks with you.”

“No wonder you know Paganini, I’m assuming you played some of his-- hold on a moment--”

Black Hat played a difficult section with ease, looking at his violin with a fond, content sort of boredom.

“-- His guitar pieces?”

“Oh yeah. Well… Well, no, it’s really hard, but--”

“Of course it’s hard. It wouldn’t be worth doing if it wasn’t.”

“D’you play?”

“Guitar? I’m proficient, but it was never my favourite. I owned the Sabionari, but I…” Black Hat looked coy. “I got very drunk and lost it in a bet in the seventeenth century. It’s no great loss. There’s not enough bite to a guitar, not for my tastes.”

“If you want bite, play an electric!” Dementia enthused, Flug stuck watching them as they talked about things he didn’t really understand. “It’ll tear your face off, then puke it up, then smoosh it back on your skull! Man, you gotta get one of those Flying V’s,” Dementia declared, giddy at the thought. “Put some evil looking stuff on it, paint it black, you’d look sick as hell.”

“I’m already ill.”

“No, like, sick good. You get ‘yeah, sick’ or ‘eurgh, sick’ y’know?”

“No.”

With a wild shriek from the instrument, Black Hat battered his bow against the instrument producing rapid plucks. Dementia grabbed her hair again, turning to Flug in awe as if he could understand the specifics of what he was seeing.

“Did you really take classical guitar lessons?” Flug whispered.

“My mom put me in a couple when I was really, really small,” she admitted. “But I got bored after two of them. I read up on all this classical stuff back at the mansion 'cause I know he loves it.”

“So you’re putting up with something you hate just to please him? Can you even play?”

“Never said I hated it. And I can play a couple. I taught myself. It’s not hard if you actually, uh, y’know, have musical skill, or drive, or talent.”

“I’m not letting you talk down to me.”

“Yeah, well I’m not letting you.”

The plucking stopped, the instrument wailing and moaning. “Children, please,” Black Hat barked, “shut up and be impressed.”

Flug looked again to Black Hat’s face and found it to be just as serene, his mouth upturned in a smile. He finished and breathed a sigh of relief. Dementia applauded wildly and darted out of the room.

“Where are you going?” Black Hat asked.

“I’m getting my guitar!”

She returned with it in hand. Parts of it were bashed in, several holes covered clumsily in glitter stickers. She sat down, her hands hovering over it.

“Uh, OK, so, um…” She bit her lip. Black Hat ignored her nerves.

“What are you playing?”

“I can’t remember what it’s called.”

Black Hat waved her off, not believing her. “I’ll know it. Go on, then,” he said dismissively. “Dazzle me.”

Dementia took a deep breath. Flug narrowed his eyes, part of him eager to see her tackle something outside of her skill level and embarrass herself in front of Black Hat. She plucked one string, slowly, then another, and as she gained speed Flug realized with simmering bile that she was playing very competently.

“Etude in A minor,” Black Hat said, appraising her. “Ferdinando Carulli.”

“That’s the one,” Dementia said, slowing without thinking.

“Keep playing,” Black Hat snarled. Dementia jolted but continued and his mood settled again. She stuck her tongue out, strumming and plucking with her long nails. A discordant note cut through the performance and she cursed loudly, ceasing. Black Hat leaned forward, motioning at the guitar. “You can’t just stop halfway through, you idiot!”

“But I got it wrong.”

“Oh, do you think I got where I am by giving up every time I flubbed a note? That’s the first rule of music, no, of anything; if you screw up you curse and then you keep going. From the last bar, keep going.”

“Aw, man, you just don’t get it. You’re great at everything, you don’t get what it’s like.”

Black Hat’s voice because hushed and purled. It wasn’t calm and soothing to the ear. It was incensed. “Are you implying I didn’t have to work to do the things I do?”

“Well… Yeah. I thought it was some weird, obscure power. You can turn into a big monster and play the violin. Everyone thinks that. You show up and do amazing stuff, it’s cool.”

“Well, I didn't. Don’t you ever,” he hissed, drawing closer and pressing a finger to her chest, “ever say that again. Don’t you ever imply I didn’t slave away for years to do what I do.”

“Alright bonbon,” Dementia responded, putting her hands up, “OK. I’m sorry. That was on me, my bad. It was meant to be a compliment.”

“It wasn’t. What about you, Flug. Want to get in any digs while we’re on the topic?”

“No, sir,” he said, feeling awkward.

“Good. Both of you be thankful I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth because if I was I would take it out, shove it up your arseholes and crack you open like geodes. From the last bar.”

They were quiet.

“Born in a literal sense,” Flug asked, “or in a metaphorical--”

“Oh, shut up. I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m sorry,” Dementia repeated. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“Last bar.”

She resumed. Stuttering, and with the odd mistake, she finished, the last note echoing. Black Hat held his chin. “Discounting the fact your guitar is out of tune-- fix that, it hurts me-- you’re a capable musician. It’s not easy.”

She smiled, still stinging from his rebuke. “Thanks. I dunno, I don’t think that went well.”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

Black Hat looked taken aback, slapped in the face with his own prodigious age. He mouthed ‘nineteen’ and shuddered. “How long have you been playing?”

“Fifteen years.”

“Hmm. Do you know when the violin, as we know it, came to be, Dementia?”

“I don’t, it sounds like nerd stuff, but go on.”

“The sixteenth century. Do you know when I first started playing?”

Flug vividly recalled that morning. He did his best not to look alarmed.

“I don’t, but it sounds like sexy stuff,” Dementia said, “so go on.”

“The sixteenth century. Don’t bother comparing. I can say, without any exaggeration or arrogance, that I am probably the single most skilled musician alive.” He looked deliciously smug. If it were anyone else Flug would have found it infuriating, but Black Hat’s rampant ego was comforting given their circumstances. “Don’t ruin what was an adequate performance of a fine piece.

“Man, I just--”

Dementia blinked. Her face lit up, grateful for the warped pep talk.

“Huh! I… I actually feel better. Thanks. You really do care, huh?”

Black Hat winced, shaking his head. “No, no, we can’t have that. Give me the guitar.”

She handed it to him. He plucked at it awkwardly, fiddling with the tuning pegs and squinting, his speech peppered with hemming and hawing as he brought the battered guitar into a usable state. He proceeded to, effortlessly, blow Dementia out of the water for two minutes. Dementia’s deft movements seemed the ham-fisted clobbering of a wildebeest compared to his unparalleled proficiency. But, despite his ill intent, both Dementia and Flug sat captivated once again. With a final strum Black Hat finished.

“There. How do you feel? Has your self-esteem punctured at all? Feeling inadequate in my presence?”

“You’re so amazing,” she gushed. “You touched my guitar. It’ll smell like you. Tuned it, too!”

“Eurgh. I take back what I said. You’re terrible and you’ll never improve.”

“It’s too late, Hatty. The pep talk stuck. I feel more empowered than ever.”

“Unstick it at once and go back to being ashamed.”

“Nope!”

He shoved the guitar back into her hands, disappointed. He turned to Flug. “What about you? You’re at least a little upset, aren’t you? Do you have any kind of musical talent?”

“No, sir. I played the flute for two months in elementary, but I hated it.”

“Do you feel sufficiently devastated in the face of my musical splendour?”

“Traumatized, sir,” Flug said, humouring him. Black Hat looked sincerely delighted. Flug’s heart grew warm at the sight of such a genuine smile. He took note of Black Hat’s eyes. When his smile was cruel or mocking, his eyes narrowed and the skin around them crinkled downwards, but when it was artless and natural the skin crinkled up, moving with the seams of his cheeks. Flug got the sneaking suspicion he had just made Black Hat’s day.

“Oh, wonderful! Let’s play another. Some Bartok, I think.” Black Hat braced the violin to his neck again, closing his eyes, filling the room with sweet and wonderful music, a world away from the hellish, gleeful din of the organ. Flug closed his eyes and swayed, as if the music threaded through one ear and out the other, gently tugging him back and forth. The squeal of a spoiled note pulled him from his trance. Black Hat continued despite the mistake, his eyebrows knitting. The high hum of skilful playing drowned it out and it was quickly forgotten until it happened again, and again, and then even the correct notes shook. But despite this Black Hat kept playing, even as his expression turned darker.

“Sir,” Flug said gently. “Stop.”

“No.”

“Sir.”

Black Hat pulled his hand away. It tremored, the bow squirming between his unsteady fingers.

“I… I don’t feel well.”

They all looked at one another. The fine string that held reality above them broke, bringing it down in a cacophonous din around their ears. The soft and sweet music tumbled away. Black Hat’s face turned to utter despair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's give a big hand to flug's neglected prostate, the new main character! failing that, two fingers will do


	11. You Can't Get A PhD In Dignity And Even If You Could You Would Fail

                                                                                                                                             

 

Flug spoke with the decisive authority of a man who was somewhat equipped for the task ahead.

“Stand up,” he ordered. Black Hat sat still, shocked, staring at his juddering hands. “Stand up,” Flug repeated, breaking Black Hat from his stupor. Black Hat shook his head and stood, willing to put aside his pride for the moment.

“Relax your shoulders."

Black Hat let his arms go slack at his sides. Flug circled him slowly, scrutinizing. “Hold your arms in front of you."

Black Hat complied.

“Are you a medical doctor?” Dementia asked.

“Not officially,” Flug responded, “but I’m well acquainted with veterinary medicine.”

“So you’re a vet?”

“... Not officially. But I’m the closest thing we have to a medical practitioner. I’m asking you to put your faith in me.”

“‘Closest’ isn’t the same as having one,” Dementia muttered. Flug sighed.

“I agree with you,” he said. “But we can’t take him to a hospital, he’ll—”

“‘He’ has a name,” Black Hat barked, finding his voice. “I’m not a sample and I’m not a cadaver. I’m still here you insensitive prick.”

Flug jolted. “Right. Sorry, sir. It’s hard not to get a little brusque, I apologize. I’m better at inducing death than fixing it,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

The atmosphere grew darker and more oppressive. Black Hat looked troubled. Flug felt like slapping himself but given the way Dementia was looking at him, he suspected she would do the honours.

“That, uh,” he croaked, “uh, was— just a joke. Just a little joke.”

“I’ll try to hurry up and die,” Black Hat said, “I would hate to interrupt your bit with some kind of excruciating terminal illness. A medical exam would really take the wind right out of your comedic sails and that would just break my cold little heart.”

Flug cleared his throat.

“Sorry,” he repeated. Black Hat grunted in acknowledgement. At rest, the shakes lessened, but as he moved his arms they grew in intensity. Flug looked at Black Hat’s hand, tapping his chin.

Black Hat turned his head and coughed twice.

“Very funny, sir,” Flug mumbled under his breath, feeling twice as awkward. Dementia snickered despite her worry and Black Hat exhaled in amusement. Flug rose and spoke with academic authority.

“That,” Flug said, “is definitely a tremor.”

Black Hat’s expression exuded contempt. “Thank you,” he drawled. “I’m cured.”

“But,” Flug continued, ignoring his comment, “it settles down when you’re at rest.”

“Hm. Muscle weakness?” Black Hat asked.

“... Potentially,” was all Flug could say.

Black Hat nodded, considering this. His eyes widened as if he was stood in front of an oncoming truck and the truck was aiming directly for his temporal lobe. “... Neurological?”

“Potentially,” Flug repeated. “I can’t run any real tests.”

“Permanent?”

“You know what I’m going to say, sir.”

Black Hat waved him off, the movement present even in that. “Yes, yes, I get it. No concrete statements, too many ‘what ifs’, fine. If I go out and do something terribly evil will it subside?”

“It should,” Flug said, “from what we’ve seen so far. But that’s not a guarantee. And it may come back if you decline.”

“It’s guarantee enough. Fine, that’s our plan. This sounds stupid, but it didn’t occur to me to consider the prospect of a neurological condition.” His features once again came alive in horror, his voice a sharp whisper. “Are my faculties at risk?”

“Without the means to test you,” Flug said diplomatically, “I can’t say.”

Black Hat gripped his head. He paced about the room, distraught. He moved to speak, cut himself off and paced again, fretting with his hands.

“How come Black Hat is so sick? We killed someone today,” Dementia pointed out. “It was brutal.”

“I think I’m building a tolerance of some kind,” Black Hat said, walking to one corner of the room, spinning and walking to the other, gesturing in panic as he moved. “We need to do something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, causing her to jump, “something!”

Black Hat stopped. He sank slowly to the bed, sitting. He sat rigid and cold. Flug looked perplexed at the sudden calm. “Are you alright, sir?”

“It’s not the good sort of calm,” Black Hat said, an edge to his voice. “First we devise a plan, then I… Panic, or break down, or whatever people do in these situations. Flug, you’ve read your fair share of wishy-washy self-help books, is there a chance I’ll get over this in five minutes?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“No.”

“Balls.”

They sat in silence as they waited for a plan to materialize out of the air in front of them in a convenient miracle. Black Hat spoke up. “What if we…”

He trailed off. He scoffed, shaking his head.

“No, that wouldn’t work.”

“You really don’t have any clients you could call?” Flug pleaded. “Order around? Beat with a stick? Call in favours? Any help?”

“Flug,” Black Hat said, “these people are villains.”

Flug stared at him, confused. “... Yes?”

“No, Flug, you aren’t getting it. They’re villains,” Black Hat repeated. “They’re not known for their loyalty. If they suspect that I’m even the slightest bit off-kilter they’ll sell me out. I’m too prestigious a target.”

“But surely they’ll make an exception for you,” Flug said. “You’re… I can’t make a comparison, you’re Black Hat. You may as well be the devil.”

“You say that as if that doesn’t place me in more danger. Say I march into a supervillain’s base, doff my cap and order them around. What if they were to call my bluff, hm? ‘Why Black Hat, you handsome devil, why haven’t you done anything extravagantly evil with your horrible powers, I was so looking forward to it.’ What then?”

He held up his juddering hands.

“What if I move to scratch an itch? No, we’re well and truly on our own and no amount of Illuminarrows or Dark Garys is going to help us. Now shut up and think of something deplorable.”

Flug sighed. He sat on the bed, resting his head on his hands and tapping away. “Home invasion?”

“A fine idea,” Black Hat said, “but I don’t like the thought of rushing something like that. We don’t have the luxury of poor planning, keep in mind we're not cornering some poor lone saps anymore.”

Dementia leapt up, punching the air.

“I’ve got it!” She squealed. Flug stood up to join her, excited.

“You’ve got an idea?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I know how we— oh it’s gone.”

“What do you mean, ‘it’s gone’.”

“It was there and now it’s not.”

They sat down. Black Hat chewed at his nails. He leapt up also. “Yes! I’ve got it! First, we find a maternity ward, then we sneak into the maternity—”

Flug looked at him. Black Hat scoffed.

“Oh, you can’t go feeling bad now! I’m the evilest thing on the planet and any of your ‘moral standards’ are arbitrary and, honestly, hypocritical, because you willingly chose to work with…”

Dementia picked her nails and bit her lip, uncomfortable with the idea. “Fine,” Black Hat relented. “Fine. Have it your way.”

“It’s good to have some standards, sir,” Flug said.

“Don’t lecture me.”

They lapsed into quiet. Half an hour passed as they paced and fretted, time slipping slowly away from them. Flug sighed, running his hand over his face.

“What is it,” Black Hat muttered, resting his chin on his hand.

“It’s nothing, sir.”

“A bad idea is still an idea, get talking.”

“I think,” Flug said, “we should rob a pharmacy tonight and push the big gesture to tomorrow. I would feel more confident moving forward if we had a safety net. Medicine and money. Depending on how you feel, of course. If you don’t mind me saying, sir, you don’t look as unwell as you did a few days ago. If you’re at death’s door then we can’t afford to wait, but with the daylight comes—”

“Crowds,” Black Hat said, nodding. “With a greater risk of being caught but easier pickings. There must be some event we can crash, the town is buzzing with rapture since the whole Peace thing.” Black Hat looked to Dementia hanging upside down from the bed, her limbs flopping loosely on the stained carpet. “What do you think?” he asked.

“I’ll do anything as long as I don’t have to hang here and count the splatters on the wall,” she said.

“We act tonight, in the dark, with no means of recourse should something go catastrophically wrong or,” Black Hat said, “we stock up tonight and move forward tomorrow, in broad daylight, but with a supply of medicine and a source of income.”

“... With no means of recourse should something go catastrophically wrong,” Flug admitted.

Black Hat rubbed his chin. His scales looked pale and dry. “Then let’s stock up.”

“You’re sure you’re up to this?” Dementia asked, glad to be doing something.

“No,” Black Hat admitted. “But I would prefer to plan for tomorrow. If we go hunting indiscriminately tonight we could really screw up. What if we break into a home and the owner is armed? As hardy as you are you can’t shrug off a bullet wound. And what about me? At my peak, I could be shot with an anti-tank rifle and barely yawn, but I can be killed by a stray shot.”

Flug felt his soul bubble with pride as well as the greatest pleasure any man can achieve: not being shot at. “What made you agree, sir?”

“Necessity. Go on, then. Plan.”

“Right.” Flug cleared his throat. The slight quiver in his voice subsided as he spoke. “In the event of a medical emergency, we need gloves, disinfectant, dressings, bandages and wipes. We don’t have the luxury of a sterile environment…”

Flug looked disdainfully at the filthy room.

“... But we should still strive for proper hygiene. Black Hat can’t handle an infection. That’s just for an immediate crisis. Beyond that we need splints, antidiarrheal medication, rehydration sachets, syringes, sip feeds—”

“Sip feeds!” Black Hat huffed. “‘Sip feeds’, the indignity!”

“... Tape and clean water. These are essential. Below that,” Flug said, “are things Dementia can sell. You know. The drugs. Below that, everyday items—”

“Fentora,” Dementia said, cutting him off, “OxyContin, Dolophine, Vicodin, Valium, Xanax, Ambien, Ultram, Dilaudid, Kadian, Percocet, Knick-Knack, Paddywhack—”

“You made those last two up.”

“Goddamn, you’re streetwise. I’ve got some old buddies that’ll be itching to buy this stuff.”

“Flog a little at a time,” Black Hat grunted, calling upon his experience, “to different people. Friends of friends. Make it look as if you’re earning money on the side, nothing more. Definitely not Black Hat Org affiliated. Oh, keep some aside for me.”

“Didn’t see you as the pill type.”

Black Hat looked uncharacteristically uneasy. “I’m not,” he said, waving her off, “it’s not for fun. I’m not going to sit in agonizing pain if there’s a perfectly good pile of opiates feet away, that’s stupid.”

“How much?”

“Far more than you may think.”

Flug narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Black Hat. It would be easy to dismiss as a throwaway comment if not for Black Hat glancing at Flug and glancing away, aware he was being studied with a cold, clinical gaze. This habit, this steadfast safeguarding of his own privacy, of certain things he would never deign to tell anyone, whispered to Flug of potential. Stories and secrets murmuring beneath Black Hat’s skin, far more interesting than anecdotes of hedonistic parties and indiscriminate murder; where sex, uncontrolled consumption and violence merged into one great, grey slurry without meaning or purpose and rendered even the most perverse indulgences hoary. This habit, this checking of Flug’s eyes, was his greatest tell. And from the expression on his face, he knew it. But he couldn’t stop himself.

It was if a far larger animal had been folded and pressed into a man-sized mould, far heavier and hungrier than his weak frame should have allowed. Dementia broke Flug from his ruminations, cracking her neck with a hefty sigh.

“If word gets out that I’m running around with a garbage bag full of pills,” she said, “I’ll get jumped and man, I’m getting sick of that happening.”

“If we do get the pills,” Black Hat said, “don’t mention it outside of this room. New rule. I don’t want half the bloody Kingsport battering down our door to rob us.”

“Agreed.”

Flug continued to stare, both of them fully aware that Flug had caught onto something he wasn’t meant to. Black Hat, uncomfortable and given a subject that he could relate to his own mythos in even a tenuous way, began to talk about himself.

“I owned a few opium dens back in the day,” Black Hat said, gesturing with his hands and a wistful glint in his eye. “I indulged every now and then. Not with the rabble, of course, but with other people of class. It was just what was done. We would smoke, gamble, strike up deals, discuss philosophy, that sort of thing, it was lovely fun. Unfortunately, I fell into a classic trap; one moment you’re discussing the merits of Purcell over a lovely wine and suddenly Mad Barry, Lord of the Thirty Planes of Unrelenting Agony dances over, out pops the heroin and everything goes to hell.”

“We’ve all been there,” Dementia said, nodding and perfectly happy to listen to him speak.

“Looking back there’s a sort of romance to it all that I just can’t quite summon nowadays, a certain class, a certain intangible loveliness that permeated those years. I wish I had the sense to ponder what it was at the time, perhaps then I could have captured it.”

He sighed. Flug, chewing over some things, gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Dementia, in envy, did the same, until they were both gently beating him in support. He shooed them away, irritated.

“... Anyway,” Black Hat continued in the same gentle, wistful tone, “I got shitfaced and woke up face down in Morocco three days later, wearing a ballgown, puking violently into a gutter, shaking and covered in blood that wasn’t even mine. This was remarkable because the party started in London. I was so embarrassed I locked myself away for two years and killed everyone who attended.”

He sank into a bittersweet melancholy. Dementia ploughed on, very much in the here and now.

“So I was thinking—”

Black Hat cut her off. “If my faculties start to leave me,” he said plainly, “let me die.”

Flug and Dementia looked at him, stunned. Dementia trailed off until the room was deadly quiet. Flug moved to speak but was unsure of what to say.

“I… Jesus,” Dementia croaked.

“Experience tells me,” he said, “not to dawdle if the reaper is at your door. If my mind goes, I would prefer to be dead. My plan is to overdose should the worst happen start to happen. Or to slit my own throat, or… Something, but it has to be by my hand.”

A dark hush fell over them, Dementia seething with anger and Flug unwilling to provoke it.

Black Hat cleared his throat.

“Look,” he said, “I’m not going to neck a dozen pills after grazing my knee, calm down. Consider this a… Contingency plan in the face of changing circumstances. Do you think I’m being unreasonable?”

“No,” Flug said pragmatically, “I would do the same. I understand.”

“Yes,” Dementia muttered.

“Well,” Black Hat said, waving her off, “you’re a fool. Sulk all you want.”

“You’re already miserable,” Dementia mumbled, “what’s to stop you from killing yourself anyway. It’s not like you really want to do any of this stuff.”

Black Hat rose to his feet. “That’s—!”

The fight left him, the lack of bluster worrying Flug. He sat down and sighed, holding his head in his hands. “That’s… A fair assessment, excuse my anger.”

“Of course.”

“And it’s because I don’t want to. Dementia,” he said, “look at me.”

She looked away, her lip quivering.

“Look at me, Dementia.”

She did. His face was gaunt, his scales sallow and his arms shaking.

“Both of you have to agree to it,” Black Hat said. “Here and now. Both of you have to sit down and reach a consensus regarding the state of my life if the time comes. And promise you won’t try to stop me if it gets to that point.”

“I refuse,” Dementia said, vehement. “There’s no way I could ever—”

“You haven’t failed me so far.”

Dementia blinked at him, dumbstruck. Flug listened for Black Hat’s honeyed tones, for the theatrics, but didn’t hear it. It sounded entirely genuine. Flug, despite everything that was happening, or perhaps because of it, found it in himself to be a little envious.

“Black Hat," she said, "I dunno if I can do this.”

“I won’t beg. If the time comes and you intervene, dooming me to a slow crawl towards oblivion, there won’t be a thing I can do to stop you. This will be the only time I will ever ask you to do this. For me, Dementia. Do the right thing.”

“I didn’t want this,” Dementia admitted, “when I came here.”

“It’s not how I saw myself spending a warm evening either,” Black Hat drawled. “But here we are.”

“I want to go back to fun stuff,” she sniffed. “This has been total misery from beginning to end.”

“You’re saying that as if I’m not aware.”

“Right. Sorry.”

She sat in quiet, sombre thought. Black Hat nodded at Flug.

“What about you? Any objections?”

Flug thought to the carcasses of his test animals. The heaps upon heaps of dead rats left behind as a result of his work, the various malformed neonates that didn’t ‘take’ to gene splicing, and a foggy memory of a beloved childhood pet going cold. A cool, clinical calm befell him because whilst dying was a brutal and unpleasant process, death was really quite tolerable. Stark and wonderfully clean in comparison to the winding, muddied path that made up its journey. “None, sir. I understand.”

Black Hat nodded, as reassured as he could be. He fretted with his hands again, unable to stop despite the process upsetting him.

“Dementia?” He repeated. Finally, after a lengthy, weary silence, she spoke.

“... If there’s really no hope?”

“None at all.”

“Fine. Fine,” she croaked, “fine, I’ll do it if you want me to. But what if Flug goes nuts and slits your throat?”

“It’s the same as before. Try to kill him.”

“And if we… Agree. If we all say ‘this isn’t working’ and you…”

“Let him go. The world’s a worse place with him in it. I’ll take it as a sign that I’m done. That whatever cosmic power I’ve been mocking all these years has finally extracted its revenge. That I lost. A death as natural as it could be for something like me. My debt to nature repaid.”

“Is Flug forcing you to say this?”

“Dementia,” Black Hat rattled, “the man can barely force himself to make breakfast; if he can’t win a battle of wills with eggs and toast he can’t win a battle of wills with me.”

Dementia’s tone was accusatory. “You aren’t getting soft, are you?”

“Oh no,” he laughed darkly, “No. Look me in the eye and say we let our victims off easy. Look me in the eye and tell me I’m going soft again.”

She did. She looked him in his cold, dead eye and, despite the atmosphere, giggled. “Yeah, alright, you got me there. But this is stupid. This is stupid and you’re stupid for saying it. What’s to stop Flug killing you and leaving scot-free?”

Black Hat looked at Flug. He narrowed his eyes as if applying his words with surgical precision.

“Faith, I suppose. This was an accident, after all.”

Flug felt a rush in his chest. He suppressed the urge to pull Black Hat into a hug, put a hand on his shoulder, any act of comfort he could give. Every part of Flug’s being compelled him to protect this man. Dementia ran her hands down her face in frustration.

“Are you asking me, she said, “as a friend?”

“No,” he replied quickly, “I’m ordering you as my servants.”

“You’ve had tons of servants over the years,” she bit back, “so I was just checking. So your servants talk you down in the middle of the woods?”

“No, Dementia, they don’t. Fine, they don’t.”

“And you hang out with your servants? As they’re cooking your meals or cleaning the house, you sit down with them and play your violin? Tell a few stories? How many people have heard you play the violin?”

“No,” he admitted, “no, I don’t. And not many.”

Flug looked on, wondering how Dementia could walk with her pendulous balls.

“Do you like your servants?” She continued.

“I make a point not to know them, and even if I did I doubt I would. I like the service they provide.”

“Do you like us?”

Black Hat grit his teeth, the corners of his mouth flaring up to reveal his gums in a grimace so severe it looked as if the skin would peel cleanly from his face.

“Are you asking me,” she repeated, “as a friend?”

Black Hat’s face twisted further in disgust before he had the chance to think. He paused to consider, to really consider, her question. He looked revolted with himself, but it wasn’t a cynical self-loathing, it wasn’t the face of a man being forced to say something he didn’t want to say. It was a horror that came with knowing she was right. “Yes,” he spat, appalled at himself. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

Flug felt a wonderful warmth in his chest. Dementia’s expression remained locked. Slowly, she reached her arms out and forward, like lobster-claws.

“What are you doing?” Black Hat asked, wary.

She hooked her arm around Flug and Black Hat’s neck, slowly bringing them all to meet in the middle with a grip neither of them could break.

“What are you doing?” Black Hat repeated, louder.

She didn’t answer. She squashed them both into a group hug, cheek to cheek to scarf. Black Hat responded with violence immediately but his weakened state rendered his blows flaccid.

“Group hug,” Dementia replied sternly.

“No, Dementia,” Black Hat yelled, “no, no, I take it back!”

Flug thought about protesting but the contact was too nice, too foreign. Flug sighed and leaned into it, one arm around Dementia’s waist, the other around Black Hat’s. Black Hat thrashed feebly inside their grip.

“We are not bezzie mates frolicking in fields and making daisy chains,” Black Hat roared, “let go! Dr Flug, assist me!”

“Group hug, sir,” Flug said. Black Hat waved his arms to wriggle out, hissing the entire time.

“If you don’t let go I will jam my hand down my gullet and spew on you both, there won’t be anything left to identify!”

With a final thrash Black Hat shoved them both away, his dignity stinging. Flug and Dementia made eye contact, neither quite sure what to make of the other. Diametrically opposed in personality and, even if Dementia didn’t know it, in competition. Flug nodded. Dementia scrutinized him with a wary gaze and, despite not yet trusting him, nodded back.

An uneasy alliance built around keeping Black Hat going. This, he supposed, was as fine a basis for friendship as any.

“I’ve never had a friend,” Flug admitted. “I used to have imaginary friends as a little kid but they all ran away.”

“I’ve never been so disgustingly weak,” Black Hat said, loathing bubbling in his voice, mostly towards himself. “So sickeningly hopeless. So repulsively decrepit—”

“You guys are total losers,” Dementia said. “I’ve had so many friends.”

“Is this really the state of my life,” Black Hat muttered. “Is this really where it’s all going? Ugh. At least you’re not doing one of those revolting little speeches those two-bit heroes do before I kill them.”

“No matter what happens,” Dementia beamed, launching into a revolting little speech, “you can always count on your friends for support. Through thick and thin. All in this. Together. I love you. I’m tearing up. Can we have another group hug?”

“I’m game,” Flug said.

“I wish I was dead,” Black Hat said. “And we were in the middle of planning before you two hippies decided to start an impromptu drum circle. I demand you go back to that.”

“Oh, right,” replied Flug, a little sheepish. “The drugs will be locked away, think you can get to them?”

“Pfft, please,” Dementia said, cracking her knuckles. “I can crush a guy’s hip like a soft-boiled egg, I’ll be fine.”

“They’ll be in a safe, I assume.”

“Or,” she responded, confident, “a cabinet I can rip open with my bare hands. And even if it is a safe, I can get it open. It’s not hard if you know what you’re doing.”

“I wouldn’t send her out in my name,” Black Hat interjected, “if she couldn’t strongarm a safe. It’s part of the enforcer package. The petty crimes I couldn’t be arsed doing; murder, theft… If you have a superpowered brat at your disposal you may as well send her out to do something useful.”

“And I am useful,” she bragged. “You have to admit.”

“Begrudgingly.”

“I’m so glad we’re friends.”

Black Hat shuddered visibly.

“I’ve hit stores before,” Dementia said, “in my free time. Good for spending money, so the police aren’t gonna be shocked when they see it’s me. You two are gonna raise eyebrows.”

Black Hat grunted in affirmation. “I won’t go in. Flug, wear the bag, make it look like a fun day out for the mansion failures. Remember, this is not a charming crime. We are not stealing fifty million from a bank, we are not ‘creatively diverting’ funds or using child slaves in some factory halfway across the world, ‘a quick trial and out for brunch’ is not an option. This is, and forgive me for saying this...”

Black Hat looked away. He bit on his fist, composing himself. He gagged once.

“This... This is a poor people crime. And if we’re caught we may face real consequences.”

“God,” Dementia whispered, “I hate consequences.”

“I know, Dementia. If you want to weep, I understand.”

“Does the law really go that easy,” Flug asked, naive on account of his upbringing, “on the rich? Isn’t it the same for everyone?”

Black Hat howled with laughter, a rasping, wheezing sort of laugh akin to a balloon deflating. He tried to compose himself, failed and guffawed again. He clutched his stomach, wiping his eyes. He was stopped only by a coughing fit and shambled to the window, huffing the fresh air in an attempt to get a grip.

“Flug,” he wheezed, “Flug, don’t make jokes like that without warning me, I could have suffocated. Oh. Oh, what a talent you have, good grief. Oh...”

He wiped his eyes again with his palm, still giddy.

“I haven’t laughed like that in years.”

“I… I wasn’t joking, sir.”

Black Hat nearly passed out. He was a tearful, red-faced wreck of a man, barely able to speak. He waved at Flug and Dementia, encouraging them to continue without him. It was decided that they would steal garbage bags from the hotel, storm in, grab what they needed and storm out.

“I don’t want to be in there,” Flug said, “for any longer than a minute.”

“We should come up with a secret signal,” she replied, agreeing. “Y’know, like all the cool bad guys. Like ‘caw-caw! Caw-caw!’ or ‘run! Fucking run you stupid idiot!’”

“That’s a signal. Now to delegation. I’ll take care of the essentials. Dementia, you take drugs.”

“Can do!” she saluted.

“You should probably drive,” Flug said to her. "But with Black Hat beside you, he's been in his fair share of chases and that experience is invaluable should the worst happen."

“Now hold on,” Black Hat huffed, “who died and made you the leader? You can’t just start ordering me around.”

“What,” Flug groaned, supremely tired, “do you suggest we do, sir?”

Black Hat sulked, his teeth peeping over his lips. “You take the emergency, Dementia takes drugs—”

“Can do!” she saluted again.

“— And she drives. But I want to be at the front, I've been in my fair share of chases and that experience is invaluable should the worst happen.”

“What an amazing idea,” Flug said.

“Thank you,” Black Hat responded, “I came up with it myself.”

 

* * *

 

There are certain intricacies that come with robbing a pharmacy. One, its location. This particular store happened to be a small, mom-and-pop business on the quieter side of town. Two, the method of entry. An old, creaky fire exit, or perhaps the roof, a unique and exploitable weakness within the bricks and the stone of the building. Three, the method of escape. In any case, Flug mused, this mission would require force, but just the right amount applied in just the correct way; a severing of an artery compared to the breaking of a bone. Flug and Dementia sat in the back of the van, both of them dressed in their usual attire and both of them nervous. Black Hat looked behind him, his arm slung over the dirty passenger's seat.

“Prepare yourself.”

Flug took a deep breath, his leg juddering. Dementia joined him, a deep breath in, and out. She started to speak and trailed off.

“What is it?” Flug asked.

Dementia looked uncommonly shy. “You’ll laugh…”

“I won’t,” Flug said. “Really. What is it?”

“Well… Before any big mission,” she said, “I close my eyes. I take a deep breath, I hold it, and then I say the thing I want to happen out loud. It helps me focus. And I kind of chant it to myself, too. Is that weird?”

“Yeah, kind of. Does it work?”

“Yeah.”

“Why would I laugh at that? Just because I can do simple things without repeating them to myself.”

“You see, this is what I’m talking about.”

“If you two would please hurry up,” Black Hat prompted. Flug gripped his chin, smarmy.

“I, sir,” he said, “am formulating a plan of entry. Every structure has a weakness and every builder, a flaw. Except for me, of course. The name of the game, sir, is subtlety.”

Black Hat cocked a brow, humouring him. “Really?”

“Indeed, sir. And I exploit them, as any BHO Vice President should.”

“That’s very impressive.”

“I’m aware, sir.”

“You better get a move on.”

“Hm?”

“She’s already left.”

Flug felt the breeze on his back, the door open behind him. He heard Dementia chant, as if in a trance, from around the corner, and the thud of a foot on Perspex glass.

_“DRUGS! DRUGS! DRUGS! DRUGS!”_

Flug squawked and scrambled out of the van and through the alleyway. By the time he arrived she had wrenched the glass away with her bare hands in a feat of unnatural and terrifying strength and was making her way inside. Flug hopped through the gap, catching his foot on an outcrop of brick and falling. He rushed to his feet, disoriented, running towards what he hoped was a relevant aisle. He swept what he could into his bag, hoping most of what he tossed made it inside as adrenaline and fear coursed through his body. The minute felt like a second, and before he knew it Dementia was sending him the secret signal, barely audible over the blaring alarm.

_“CAW-CAW! CAW-CAW, RUN, CAW-CAW!”_

“I need more time,” he barked.

_“YOU CAN’T GET IT, CAW-CAW, GONNA GET SHOT YOU IDIOT, CAW-CAW.”_

He threw his head back in frustration. Dementia bounded up to him, her own bag swung over her shoulder.

“If you don’t start moving I’m gonna shove you in this thing, come on!”

She made her exit, her brief appearance quick and destructive. Flug fled after her, boxes and fliers underfoot, grabbing what he could as he left and too frantic to check if it was useful. They thundered to the van, slamming the door behind them. Dementia threw herself in the front seat, made sure she was right side up, cackled and smashed her foot on the pedal.

“The key to leaving a chase with your freedom,” Black Hat said, as if she wasn’t driving on the wrong side of the road and threatening to tear the van to bits with her manoeuvres, “is to not get caught in one in the first place.”

Flug, in the distance, heard sirens.

“Failing that,” he said, in the same serene tone, “have a better vehicle.”

The van juddered and thrashed in the face of another hard turn. Dementia whooped.

“Failing _that,_ know where you’re going and have a plan when you get there.”

Flug felt violently ill.

“Failing _that,”_ he continued. “Is to not get caught up in the thrill of it all and stick to deliberate, measured moves. Like chess, you see.”

Flug couldn’t make heads or tails of where he was, the van swirling one way and his stomach the other. His vision was going dark.

“Failing _that,”_ Black Hat said, “drive like you don't mind dying.”

The van came to a screeching halt, reversing and pulling away again. Flug puked on himself and passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> could black hat have...... no.... no, he couldn't have....... it can't be...... has he made...........
> 
> fwiends.......................


	12. Let's Not Even Consider His Favourite Drapes

Flug awoke in the dark. His vision swam, his head hurt, and his mind was awash with thoughts of escape, of jail, and the high screech of sirens. Slowly, his surroundings sunk in. He was slumped in the bath in Black Hat’s hotel room, delicately layered in his own flaking vomit like a strudel of digestive fluids.

“Am I dead?” Flug asked, his voice thin.

Dementia loomed over him, her face shadowed. A towering psychopomp for his dignity. “God, you wish. You got so stressed you puked and passed out. I didn’t know that happened. I thought it was one or the other.”

Flug whined. Black Hat spoke next, also looming over him in dark amusement. He tutted and fussed in mock concern. “Feeling better, Flug? Have a sore tummy?”

“Hey,” Dementia said, nudging Black Hat, “maybe hitting the pharmacy was a ploy. Maybe all that stuff is for him.”

“Dementia, how cruel. You’re probably right.”

Flug nursed a headache. His own stench hit him and he retched.

“Don’t do that,” Black Hat said, “you won’t have any stomach left if you keep going. Not that I can blame you for spewing, that drive was truly the stuff of nightmares.”

“Black Hat,” Dementia giggled, coy, “you’re flattering me.”

“No, no,” Black Hat said, “you deserve it. Never in my life have I seen such flagrant disrespect for automotive common sense. You drive like a blind caveman. You drive like you have a gun to your head and if you don’t shift into every gear in under eight seconds you’ll be shot. I can say, with confidence, that I…”

He held out his juddering hands.

“Would have done a better job. You’re so woefully terrible that it loops back around into some kind of performance art. You obliterated those mailboxes in a way I’m struggling to describe as anything other than culturally enriching.”

“We didn’t have to do that,” Dementia explained to Flug, “I just thought it would be fun.”

“If I were in better health I would have had my chair brought to the front room, thrown open the curtains, opened a bottle of port and watch you try to drive in a straight line for hours. Do you suffer from vertigo?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Utterly fantastic.”

“Aww, Hatty. You’re too kind.”

“Yes, that’s certainly what you took from that, isn’t it?”

Flug sat up, bracing his hands to the side of the bathtub. Dementia flicked on the light, the drama spent. Flug cringed until he acclimatized. “What… What happened?”

“It was quite the spectacle,” Black Hat declared. “Helicopters, shootouts, explosions. Dementia killed an officer that happened to be a day away from retirement. It was so thrilling that I don’t think I’ll ever see anything like it again.”

“... Really?”

“No,” he admitted, shrugging. “We parked in an alley and hid. They never got a bead on us. Then we drove here.”

“Oh…”

“It seemed more exciting than it actually was, I suppose, but I’m used to disappointment having you around. There was nothing to pass out over. You’re a pilot, how on earth did you get so motion sick?”

“There’s a difference between flying a plane,” he muttered, “and being thrown around the back of a van— ugh, my head...”

Flug blearily pressed around his body; his arms, ribs and sides and found they stung.

“... Bruises?”

“Yeah,” Dementia piped up, “the problem is that when you passed out you went totally limp. No tension in your body at all. So when I did hard turns you smacked against the van like a rock in a Tupperware box. If you weren’t unconscious before... After that, I put you on my shoulder, vomit-side up, and carried you in through the fire door. Hey, remember how you dragged me into the shower half-naked and turned it on?”

“Yes,” Flug replied meekly.

“Oh, you remember it?”

“Yeah.”

“The thing you did? You’re sure? You’re sure you remember that?”

“Yes.”

“I remember that.”

“Please don’t do this,” he whispered.

Dementia turned the shower on. Flug sat under it glumly, soaked and reeking. “I deserve this.”

“It pains me to say it,” Black Hat sighed, “but I think we’ve had our fun. Come on, leave him to scrub up. Go dig out some clothes for the poor bastard.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dementia said. “I’ll throw ‘em in.”

They left, the old door creaking shut. Flug sighed, still under the showerhead, and contemplated the state of his life. Dementia opened the door, turned off the light and retreated with a cackle, leaving fresh clothes. Flug grumbled, stripped, took a scalding hot shower and dressed again, hoping she had deigned to give him something reasonable. Their thrift shop ransacking left them with clothes that fit into one of three camps. ‘Outdoor wear’; clothes that were perfectly fine and reasonable with Black Hat finding the most luck in several outfits that happened to fit both his frame and his personal taste. ‘Indoor wear’; hideously ugly garments that were acceptable for sleeping/lounging and not much else, mostly made up of promotional shirts from fundraisers long passed and business retreats. Then there was ‘Never wear’; rags fit only for mopping up stains and imbued with several strange and unpleasant smells. Flug examined his outfit, a pair of sweatpants and an XXL men’s shirt leftover from the infamous charity marathon in honour of the Bowel Transplant Foundation that fell through after a PR disaster bankrupted the sponsoring company. Flug, now swamped in his (thankfully reasonable) pyjamas, waited in the bathroom with his face perilously exposed and unwilling to use the soiled bag for coverage. As his panic grew he heard bickering, mostly Black Hat hissing orders until Dementia opened the door a crack, slid the hat, scarf and goggles in and clicked the door shut. His dignity regained and ‘HARRISON’S SOUP: GIVES YOU THE RUNS’ emblazoned across his chest, Flug did his best to walk into the bedroom with his head held high. Black Hat motioned to Dementia gracefully as she waggled garbage bags above her head, both of them sat on the bed.

“Let’s examine our haul,” Black Hat said, “shall we?”

“You didn’t look while I was passed out? Or getting dressed?” Flug asked, joining them with a creak of the mattress.

“I thought it was wise to wait until you were awake and aware. You’re the doctor here, you can point to anything pertinent.”

“... You didn’t even peek?”

Black Hat sighed, throwing his head back like a petulant teen. “Fine, fine, I wanted a big reveal when we were all here. I thought it would be fun to go through it all… Well, together. I’ve a flair for the dramatic, Flug,” he drawled, “so sue me.”

Flug smiled tenderly, not that it could be seen. “I’m glad you like spending time with us, sir.”

Black Hat scowled, waving him off. Flug took the smaller bag and peered inside. He found boxes of bandages and bottles of topical disinfectant to his relief, pulling them out and onto the bed. He, even in a panic, at least had the sense to gravitate towards other essentials, including antidiarrheals and rehydration treatments. A significant amount of his bag was filled with sane, useful and reasonable items. Not all of it, however.

Flug pulled several bottles out of the bag and squinted.

“... Coconut cream bubble bath, sea fennel body wash and an almond milk and honey exfoliant?”

“I’ll be taking those,” Black Hat said, eagerly rubbing his hands. Flug and Dementia slowly turned to Black Hat. His face shifted to a darker hue of grey. “It’s… It’s medicinal.”

“Medicinal, sir?” Flug asked, never missing a chance to be smug.

“I think I’m going to shed,” Black Hat responded, doing his best to put his heart into it, “and I need these things to make it painless. A stuck shed is agony, Flug. You know how harmful dysecdysis can be. You’re a biologist.”

“That’s one of my hats, yes. But snakes soak, sir. In plain water.”

“Maybe I like to smell nice,” Black Hat huffed. “Did you ever think of that? From your diamond throne of judgement? I need little things to keep me sane.”

“You’re gonna do it,” Dementia cooed, delighted.

“I’m not going to do it,” he responded.

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, you so are. You do it when you’re mad.”

Black Hat hissed at her, flicking his tongue in irritation. He caught himself and pinched his nose.

“Like clockwork,” she giggled. “Do it again.”

“It’s not a bloody party trick!”

Flug handed off a box to Dementia, eager to stop this before it started. “Tampons.”

“Nice, thanks, dude.”

“No problem. We can make a dressing out of them in an emergency.”

Dementia hemmed and hawed, bobbing her head back and forth with an ‘ehh’. Flug spoke, incredulous.

“‘’Ehh’? What do you mean, ‘ehh’?”

“I’m not saying that I wouldn’t hand one over if you got shot,” she said, “but I am saying that they’re eight dollars a pack, so…”

“Dementia, we stole these.”

“Yeah, but… Eight theoretical dollars.”

Black Hat squinted, confused. “Hold on a moment, you’re charged for menstruating?”

“Kinda.”

“How ingeniously evil! Taxing one of those disgusting but inevitable biological processes, why didn’t I think of that? That’s bloody brilliant.”

A silence fell on them all. Dementia gave him an awkward pity-laugh.

“Anyway,” Flug said, ignoring him, “let’s keep looking.” He resumed, pulling out a box and squinting at it. “Uh, a cream for vaginal dryness…?”

Black Hat and Dementia stared at him. Flug, feeling awkward, did the first thing he could think of and handed it to Dementia. Dementia slapped it out of his hand before he could complete the motion.

“You know,” Black Hat said, “if you asked me what I would be doing today, oh… Ten or so years ago, this wouldn’t be on my list of guesses.”

“What would be?” Dementia asked.

Black Hat shrugged, exhausted. “Single-handedly toppling some government and instilling a new and horrific regime. Cherry liqueur. Maybe a wank.”

They finished examining the medicinal bag. Simple, yet vital, supplies lay in front of them. Flug breathed a heavy sigh of relief, his dignity somewhat intact. Yet despite their usefulness, Black Hat couldn’t help but needle at Flug.

“The bad news is that our supplies are finite and basic,” Black Hat commented snidely, motioning to their goods. “The good news is that if there’s a plan that requires us to be disguised as constipated mummies with luxuriously humid vaginas then there’s no way we can fail.”

“Yay!” Dementia squealed.

“Yes,” Black Hat shuddered. “Yay. Dementia, your bag?”

Dementia, looking at Flug like a smug older sibling, tossed her bag onto the bed. Black Hat opened it, perused its contents and looked at her.

“Hm. Good work,” he said. Flug bristled visibly but kept quiet. “What do you think you’ll get?”

“For this?” She said. “Uh… A few thousand, I think. Depends.”

“People still have to buy them, of course. Do whatever you have to, it’s not like it’s difficult to sell these things.”

“Right.”

“Don’t do anything that will get your legs broken because if that happens I’m leaving you by the side of the road and driving away. I’ve no use for cripples.”

Dementia laughed lightly, either unwilling or unable to confront the fact he wasn’t really joking. Flug looked at Black Hat and, forlornly, removed several boxes from the bag. Dementia and Black Hat pretended not to notice. Flug examined the pills and came right out with it. “How much do you weigh?”

“Bit of a personal question, don’t you think?” Black Hat joked.

“For dosing. You’re not a normal man. I can’t afford to guess.”

Black Hat rolled his eye. “I’m aware. Five hundred pounds.”

Dementia did a double take. Flug sat aghast. “Five hundred pounds?”

“Yes,” said Black Hat. “At a guess. I’ve lost a lot of weight. I could be more, I could be less.”

“Five… Hundred pounds?”

“Yes.”

Flug bunched up his sleeve to expose his arms, prompted Black Hat to do the same and compared mass. Black Hat’s flesh was taut and sinewy; thin muscle meandering around bone and up into his chest, every angle a jutting, dark crag. Flug’s was a slight but flabby stick that was red at the end but otherwise entirely average. Flug could only look back, then forth, then back, then forth again. “Five…” he repeated, astonished, “hundred pounds?”

“This doesn’t feel scientific."

Dementia also brought her arm into the fray, flexing her muscles to show off and to gawk at Black Hat’s freak of a body.

“Two hundred and twenty kilograms? You’re skeletal," Flug blustered, "you can’t possibly...”

Flug recalled the night before, Black Hat draped on top of him and squishing all the air out of his lungs as he slept. He let himself trail off and played it off as exhaustion.

“Not accounting for Flug’s… 'Moment',” Black Hat said, “I think this went well. Do we have enough? Could we do with more money?”

Flug and Dementia looked at him, confused. “How do you mean?” She asked. “We can get food and stuff, gas for the van, nights here. As long as we don't blow it we’re set for a while.”

“Hm,” Black Hat said as if he didn’t quite believe her. “Fine. It’s good to be cautious. Flug, you come from money, you’re not a pleb. You… Understand.”

“Dementia is right here,” Flug said, astonished.

“Why would that matter?”

“Yeah,” Dementia said, as confused, “why would that matter?”

“Understand what?” Flug asked. Black Hat looked flustered, regretting the topic entirely.

“... Nevermind.”

“No, you were saying something.”

“No, honestly, it’s nothing. I was just saying that, in coming from a wealthy family you might, you know… Get it.”

“What’s ‘it’?”

“It’s nothing. Forget I ever mentioned it.”

“Black Hat,” Flug asked in an accusing tone, “if I walked out right now and bought some milk... How much would I spend?”

Black Hat scoffed, fobbing him off with a hand gesture. “Well, that’s a silly question, isn’t it? Milk isn’t expensive, it’s a staple. Just because I can’t drink it doesn’t mean I don’t know.”

“There goes the cheesesteak date,” Dementia muttered.

“I’m not that out of touch with the common man,” Black Hat continued.

“Yes,” Flug said. “It’s a household staple. How much?”

“This is preposterous. Why would it matter? We’re not buying milk.”

“Black Hat,” Flug said, “I walk into a store…”

“Right.”

“I pick up a gallon of milk and I walk to the checkout…”

“Yes, right.”

“I put it down, the worker at the counter scans it; how much does he ask for?”

“I’ve always had people to deal with that for me,” Black Hat sputtered, “keep in mind when you get past a certain age currencies fly by—”

“Black Hat,” Flug said sternly. “The milk.”

“Do you want me to account for the exchange rate? There are simply too many factors for me to consider before—”

“The milk, Black Hat!”

Dementia leaned forward, pounding her fists and chanting. “Milk! Milk! Milk! Milk!”

Flug joined her. Black Hat leaned back, both enraged and perplexed. “I… Well, you see, I would never be buying my own… It’s such a menial task that of course I, as lord and master of the house, wouldn't be… The servants would— go back to calling me ‘sir’, what happened to your respect!”

Flug leaned forward, striking his palms for emphasis on every word. “Black Hat! The milk! The milk, Black Hat!”

“I refuse. I’m appalled by your childish display. I’m appalled by your lack of manners.”

“We’ll chant until you tell us.”

“Let me milk you!” Dementia gushed.

“I— no, Dementia,” Flug said, “that’s not what we’re chanting for.”

She stopped. Black Hat mumbled something.

“What?” Flug asked.

He mumbled again.

“I can’t hear you,” Flug said, at his wit’s end.

Black Hat took a long, shaky breath. ”... A tuppence.”

“Oh, Jesus!” Flug exclaimed.

“The hell is that?” Dementia asked, dumbfounded.

“New rule,” Flug said, “Black Hat doesn’t spend the money.”

Black Hat flared his nostrils, his mouth turned in a grimace. “What? No! Rebellious little whelp, how dare you lecture me about money, I— you can't just go adding rules, we've already had this talk!”

“Agreed,” Dementia said.

“What?” Black Hat repeated, frantic. “What? What is going on? What? I lived in a mansion! If there’s anyone that knows how to acquire money it’s me! I started from nothing, you know, and you dare—”

Flug cut him off. “How much is a pineapple?”

“To rent or to own?”

Flug stood, walking towards the door. “I’m going to bed. I’m way too tired to be dealing with this. I’m tired, and I’m dehydrated, and I’m… Going to bed.”

“Don’t puke on the way there,” Dementia teased.

Black Hat grunted. He shooed Dementia away when she moved to cuddle up to him, prompting her to follow Flug. “Go make a few calls, see who wants what.”

“I can do that here,” she said.

“No you can’t,” Black Hat said, “you’ll disturb me. I want a little privacy. Come back later, I’m getting sick of the sight of you two.”

Dementia shrugged. As she made her way to the single room Flug bid Black Hat goodnight and was met with crossed arms and a muttered curse for his troubles. It occurred to Flug that Black Hat was sulking, like a teen with hurt feelings, over his embarrassment. Flug couldn’t help but find it amusing and Black Hat’s awareness of this made him sulk harder. Flug entered the single room and Dementia motioned for him to shut up, squinting at her phone.

“Yeah,” she said to herself. “He’ll do…”

She brought the phone to her ear. Flug took the time to sit by 5.0.5, chatting at him and stroking his fur.

“Hey hey, Liam!” Dementia exclaimed. “It’s me. Yeah. Yeah, it’s been forever.”

She scrunched up her face.

“No. No, it’s not a booty-call— dude, aren’t you married? Whatever, no, I have a thing going on right now, I’m off the market.”

Flug rolled his eyes.

“What’re you doin’, anyways...? Oh,” she said, so casually that Flug feared she was forgetting the point of the call. “Huh. Yeah, good for you, dude. Me? Yeah, yeah, I got stuff going on. I became a lizard woman. Y’know, eating crickets, licking my own eyes, tearing dudes in half with my bare hands. Yeah.”

She lit up.

“Yeah, that’s me, hi! I’m on TV. I’m pretty much a celebrity,” she bragged. “This whole lizard thing, I’m telling you… Yeah, totally, mhmm. Uh, I’ll check.” Dementia covered the phone with her palm. “Hey Flug, d’you have any openings for lizard people? Y’know, when we’re done.”

“No,” he said emphatically. “But I always need something to vivisect. And keep your voice down, 5.0.5 is sleepy.”

Dementia put her ear to the phone, ignoring him. “Yeah, no can do. How about vivisection? No? You sure? Your call, dude. Anyway, it sounds like you really got yourself together. Oh God, d’you remember that time at that party when—”

Dementia broke down into snorting laughter, hearing some in-joke Flug didn’t understand.

“... Yeah,” she said, “yeah, used him like a surfboard! I laughed so hard I passed out. That was your cousin, right, how’s he doing?”

Dementia winced, the laughter falling away.

“Oh! Oh, he drowned. Yeah. Yeah, I knew, I remembered. I passed out in sympathy. It was tragic. He was so young. So buoyant. Yeah, well, I laugh when I’m sad. Anyway, look, I’ve got pills. You love pills! You want pills?”

Dementia winced, looking sympathetic. Her eyes were roaming left to right as she tried to figure out what to say. “Aw shit, really? Man, that sucks. I’m sorry. OD’ing is a bad way to go. Were you close?”

More chatter, more looking sympathetic.

“My condolences, man. Really. He was such a good kid. But hey, now that your brother is dead you won’t have to share; you want some oxys?”

Flug looked at her, stunned.

“He hung up on me,” she shrugged.

“‘You won’t have to share’?”

She tapped at her phone again, suppressing a yawn. “I thought he’d be into it. Ugh, damn.”

Flug made a disgusted noise. 5.0.5 stirred and flopped onto Flug’s lap, crushing him. “No,” he wheezed, “boy, no, you’re very heavy.”

“Hey!” Dementia exclaimed, pacing with the phone. “Hey, it’s me. Yeah, hi. What do you mean, who, it’s Al—”

She nodded, looking relieved.

“Yeah, I’m the one that gave that to your brother. I did say sorry, by the way. He never accepted, but I did say it, so… I mean, my hands are clean. Not much else, but my hands are.”

Flug heard laughter down the phone. Dementia gave Flug a wink, doing her best to mimic Black Hat’s knack for sales.

“... Anyway, d’you want some pills or whatever? Know anybody who would? Nothing major or anything, I just came into a little something…”

‘“Not much else’?” Flug mouthed, disgusted. Dementia narrowed her eyes at him.

“What?”

“The joke,” he mouthed.

“Dude, you’re wearing a scarf. Stop that— yeah, yeah, I got a couple! Mhmm. Uh, when’s good for you, probably want them for the weekend, right…? Yeah, that’s fine. Let’s say, uh… Ten a pop? Alright, look, if you buy a bunch I’ll knock ‘em down to eight… Dude, I have to eat! I’ve got people to support here! What?”

Dementia looked around the room. Her eyes fell to 5.0.5 and Flug shielded him with his arms, ready and willing to bear the brunt of any violence in his stead.

“Uh, yeah,” she said. “Yeah. I’ve got a kid. Mhmm. I’ve gotta buy formula and this is my only way to make money, so…”

“This is despicable,” Flug hissed, reaching his limit.

“I know, right?” Dementia mouthed back, giving him the thumbs up and nodding. “No, I’m still here,” she said, wedging the phone into her neck. “... Who’s the father? I, um, it’s— he’s—”

Dementia looked at Flug, panicking.

“F… Flegg?” She said. Flug threw his hands up in the air, suppressing a shout of indignation. “You want ‘em? For ten? Awesome, awesome, you’ve saved me such a headache, I swear. Oh, yeah, we should totally hang out sometime—”

Dementia mouthed ‘never’ to Flug and rolled her eyes, keeping her voice sunny and upbeat. When the voice at the other end of the phone prattled on, she mimed shooting herself.

“— Yeah, that sounds like fun, we should totally get drinks! Mhmm, yeah. Look, uh, things are a little dicey here so I’m gonna be busy for a while, but tomorrow night should be OK. Yeah. Yeah, alright have fun. How’s my aunt doing? She’s been better. No, yeah, she’s dead. Anyway, I gotta run, got a little one to look after. Alright man, you too, buh-bye!”

She hung up and sighed, slouching. Flug looked at her, gesturing with his arms and entirely aghast. “‘Flegg’? I— I’m— ‘Flegg’?”

“Look,” she said, nursing one of her headaches, “he needed a name, I couldn’t involve Black Hat and we’re already in a sham marriage. I panicked, alright? I’m not a saleswoman. I do the leg-breaking, not the talking.”

“I want a sham divorce.”

“Will you at least think about sham counselling?”

“No.”

“Fine, but you’re keeping 5.0.5. And you do have a kid. It’s not much of a lie. This isn’t as bad as what you did back in the lab, stop bitching.”

“That’s different,” Flug said.

“How?”

“It just… It just is!”

“That’s not a very good reason,” she muttered, poking at her phone and setting up the next call. She worked her way down her sizable list of ‘party buddies’, some of whom were interested, some of whom weren’t but were happy to tell their friends of her fine product, and some she had stolen huge amounts of money from which lead to her receiving a lot of threats as she rolled her eyes and hung up on them. Between calls, Flug sniped at her for being an idiot, and she sniped back at every aspect of him, from his appearance to his lacklustre romantic prospects.

Flug thought about telling her. What he and Black Hat were getting up to under her nose. He didn’t, but the thought was enough to sate him, to let him wallow in his own secret glee. They were broken from their bickering by three short, sharp knocks at the wall from the room over, in a perfect triplet. Black Hat’s voice was as distinct as ever, even through the wall.

“If I pop like a balloon and you’re arsing about in there it I’ll reanimate myself just to flay you to death with my own intestines, come to bed, slattern!”

“Darling!” Dementia exclaimed, clasping her hands. “My darling, my musical sweetheart, I’ll be there soon! Just a moment longer my bonbon, my precious black mamba!”

“Nevermind, stay as long as you like!”

Flug spoke up. Part of it, he could admit, was concern. The other, he knew, was a chance to show off. “You can order him to treat you better, you know,” he said.

Dementia tilted her head as if the thought never occurred to her.

“You can,” Flug repeated. “You’re the one keeping this together. He would have to comply. He treats you terribly.”

“Yeah,” she admitted, shrugging. “I guess. Part of the evil overlord package, right?”

“It doesn’t make it…”

Flug struggled for a word.

“— Not ‘right’, I guess, but… Look, you know what I mean. It’s not like you’re against the idea. You’re blackmailing him for sex.”

“For love,” she said emphatically, “it will be more than that when the time comes”.

Flug ignored her. “How is this any different?”

“He’s not the nicest to you, either,” she responded, crossing her arms. “He’s nicer but he’s still not ‘nice’. Why don’t you do that, huh?”

“I don’t have superpowers, Dementia. I don’t have the leverage you do. You have the power here. You can march in and demand that he treats you like a person. Like a human being.”

“I’m not a human being,” she said.

Flug reeled. The room was quiet, save for 5.0.5’s animal huffs and snores and the shuffling of Black Hat in the room over.

“C’mon,” Flug joked. “Of course you are. I’d be the only human here. You can’t leave me on my own with a bear and… Whatever the hell Black Hat is.”

“I used to be a person,” she said in the same calm tone. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be one again. D’you think I am?”

Flug blinked, out of his depth. “A human? A person?”

“Yeah.”

He answered honestly. “Yes. What do you think you are?”

“I dunno. A hammer in the toolbox, I guess. It’s all that I’m good at. What do you think a person is?”

“I’m not well versed in philosophy,” he said, wringing his hands, “so I can’t speak academically—”

“Neither can I,” she said. “But that stuff doesn't really matter. Do you think you’re a person?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. That’s not good for you in this business. Black Hat, now that’s a person. Not us.”

“What?”

“Do you believe in souls? I dunno, some kind of… Metaphysical… Cloud… Thing? A you that isn’t you? I mean, it is you, but it’s outside of you? You know?”

“Not really,” he admitted.

“Yeah,” she said, sighing. “I dunno either.”

“Dementia," Flug creaked, "what are you talking about? You’re worrying me.”

“What? Oh.” She waved him off, shaking her head. She appeared sharper, sober. “Nothing, just— forget it. I’m tired, you’re tired, we’re all tired. Let’s just go to bed.”

“Yeah,” Flug said, taking the out she had given him. “Yeah.”

“I…”

She trailed off, fidgeting with her fingers. Flug could tell she was struggling to maintain her train of thought. His guilt flared, his capacity for it a constant annoyance.

“Thanks,” she said. “For trying.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he said. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

“Yeah, but it’s still more than most people would… Man, I dunno, just… Thank you. Dr Flugslys?”

The invocation of his title made him sit up straight. He puffed out his chest and raised his chin, speaking with authority and pride. “Yes?”

“Are chimaeras sterile?”

He looked at her. He looked at the question he was asking and, with dread, the question beyond that question. Flug and Dementia stared at one another, the pause pregnant. “Yes,” he said, mustering all the academic certainty he could. “Yes,” he repeated despite her track record for defying all known medical convention when it suited her. “Yes,” he repeated once again, keenly aware that the fact she could stand and breathe and reason after what he did to her was nothing short of horrific. “Yes, they are.”

“I still get my period,” she shrugged. “You told me that’d stop after the procedure, but it never did. Even after all the stress ‘n stuff. I always was pretty hardy.”

In her eyes he saw a hazy, bleary cunning that he scolded himself for underestimating, made more cutting by her genuine warmth for him.

“Night, Dr Flug,” she said.

“Goodnight, Dementia,” he responded, his ribs a white-hot slush of dread.

She clicked the door shut. Flug let out a long, long sigh. This, he decided, could wait until morning. This was a long enough day as it was and he was too tired to think properly. Flug removed his scarf, hat and goggles, feeling the cool night air on his skin. He scratched at his hair with both hands, revelling in the chance to finally relax. He stood, yawned and, against his better judgement, looked at the bed. He decided then and there that his pallid hiney would never, ever touch this ungodly mattress, doubly so after spying the stain on the pillow. He looked around the room, hoping for a plush surface to materialize.

Flug spotted a sleeping 5.0.5 in an ungainly flop on the broken chair. Flug clambered onto 5.0.5’s back, pulling the duvet over himself, and found a soft, safe bed for the night. 5.0.5 was genetically engineered to spew acid from every pore when at rest to ward off intruders, but unfortunately this property manifested itself in a harmless lemon smell that followed him wherever he went in a fruity cloud of comfort. Flug breathed it in, planting a peck on his fur.

“Goodnight, 5.0.5. I’m sorry Dementia brought you into her phone call. Love you.”

Flug closed his eyes, lulled to sleep by the muffled conversation from the room over, the syllables bassy and thrumming through the wall. A hum that slinked up with Dementia’s high voice and down with Black Hat’s rasping purls, both of them weaving an odd, indistinct music in their talk. Flug was fast asleep when the conversation turned frenetic and percussive.

 

* * *

 

Flug awoke abruptly. His first thought was ‘am I alive?’ This question was easily answered as yes, he was. The next was ‘is he dead?’

Despite the fact that the death would have been ‘natural’ and thus would free Flug forever of this horrible creature, Flug felt a deep sense of relief when he heard a distinctive, raspy snore through the wall. He breathed a sigh, cuddled into 5.0.5 again and waited for sleep to take him, warm and soft and comfortable. Not a thing in the world could disturb him, his comfort sumptuous even in the most run-down room he had ever set foot in. This, he knew, was contentment. To float freely in between dreams and reality even as his body was heavy and sinking into— he had to pee.

Flug cracked his eyes open, sweeping the hair from his face and wincing when it caught a particularly tender part of his hand. The sky was dark blue, tinting pink, and he couldn’t bear to move. He could get away with another hour or so. He really did deserve a rest. All it involved was not getting up and pretending for a while, only a short while, that he was back in the mansion. Perhaps he was taking a nap on the couch, or being allowed a day off on account of a job well done. He imagined that it was a sunny day; hot, but not uncomfortably so, with gentle sunbeams falling through the stained-glass and onto the floor in shimmering colours that moved for him. Flug, though still and smiling in the real world, reclined on the antique mérridienne in his daydreams (though he only knew the name because Black Hat ordered him to never, ever sit on the one in the front room if he wanted to keep his buttocks attached to his body, which he did) and ate grapes. Perhaps he was being fed attentively, one plump grape at a time, by some attractive, muscular butler that didn’t care for clothes. No! No, Flug could do as he wished, by two swarthy butlers that didn’t care for clothes in the least! And one, the oiled one, would say, ‘Professor Flug, shall I bring you your thousands of letters lauding your genius today?’

And Flug would sigh and throw his hand over his bag. Not one of the cheap store bags, this was made of sterner stuff! This was one of those paper bags from the health foods store, borderline cardboard! ‘Burn them,' Flug would say, ‘I receive so many accolades for my incredible work that they don’t excite me anymore. What about my classmates, my high school reunion is coming up. How are they?’

‘Ah, the teenagers who lightly teased you about your acne on the third of June, two-thousand and four. Disfigured forever with acid as per your request, professor.’

‘Wonderful! And my parents?’

‘They are dropping by this evening to tell you how sorry they are for what they said and how much they really, truly love you and always have and always, always will. I also took the liberty of disfiguring them forever with acid.’

‘Jeremiah,’ Flug would titter, motioning for him to go oil up again, ‘you know me so well. I’ll take P-63F out today. I have some time after I tutor my son.’

‘Of course, professor.’

Maybe he was holding wine. Yes, Flug decided, he was holding a glass of red wine. He didn’t like the taste of it but he wanted to swirl some in a glass and look like the sort of man that could enjoy it. Black Hat made that look good.

Black Hat would knock at the door, bow politely and make his way into the room, sitting at Flug’s feet. ‘Slys,’ he would purr, Flug liked it when he purred, ‘I wanted to congratulate you. Your last invention was a resounding success. You have saved my business and are an invaluable asset through and through. I put thirty million dollars into a bank account for 5.0.5. My breath smells terrible no matter how many mints I eat and my feet are disproportionately large compared to the rest of my body and frankly that’s a little unsettling.’

‘I have, and they are. And of course, Black Hat. Now that you let me eat, sleep and take breaks, my work is unparalleled. I’m realizing that I don’t know a lot of English people so I’m struggling to imagine what you would say that isn’t screaming.’

‘Crumpets.’

‘Oh, Hatty, that’s so you. Come here.’

They would embrace gently, Black Hat’s cold arms slithering up Flug’s torso. Black Hat might mutter wild, dirty, lustful things in Flug’s ear, the forbidden words Flug only dared to dream about in his wildest flights of fancy, words like ‘pay raise’, ‘warm meals’ and ‘adequate living conditions’. This dream, like a well-trodden path, was familiar and safe with no unexpected twists or turns, no sudden veers into reality. In fact, it was so familiar and so safe that Flug conjured images freely, unwilling to suppress whatever came to mind and happy to let it play and dance across his vision.

‘Flugslys,’ this Black Hat murmured, his breath cold on Flug’s neck. ‘I love you.’

Flug’s daydreams peeled away from him, scattering and scrambling. Flug stared at the ceiling above him, the cold, damp, stained ceiling, his eyes wide and his mouth pursed. He got up to pee. This was the most emotionally harrowing piss he had ever taken, a staggering achievement considering the week he had endured.

Flug didn’t mind that he wanted to sleep with Black Hat. He was a rich, powerful, evil man that embodied all the qualities Flug admired and wanted to emulate. It wasn’t particularly unusual, either, a significant portion of their viewers weren’t interested in their products at all and were happy just to gawk at Black Hat as he plied his trade. And Flug didn’t mind admitting that, yes, he did have a crush. Black Hat was right; he was an authority figure, someone Flug respected with thousands of years of success behind him. It was natural. Embedded in human nature, Flug thought, to be attracted to someone competitive, self-sufficient and funny.

Flug did mind, however, that his fantasies drifted from the two of them entangled in bed (or in Flug’s lab, or Black Hat’s office, or in front of that teacher that told Flug he would never amount to anything) to Black Hat draping his arms around Flug’s shoulders and murmuring ‘well done’ or ‘I’ve missed you’. He did mind that he thought about peppering Black Hat’s neck with kisses that would be met with kind, soft sighs meant only for him. When he did drag his thoughts back to base and respectable fleshly appetites, generally dwelling on the fact Black Hat was infinitely flexible on account of his bones being superfluous and that he was hung like a fencepost, the moment they were spent discussion turned to what kind of tiny plants they should get for the front room, who would make breakfast or flea-bomb Dementia. Aechmea Fasciata, Flug decided, because Black Hat would wince at the thought of natural foliage in his home but the name ‘urn plant’ just might be enough to sway him—

Flug thoroughly washed his hands. He calmly filled the sink with cold water and plunged his face in. He hoped the shock would somehow strike all notions of romance with evil itself from his mind. It was cold, it was unpleasant, it stung his face and he wished Black Hat was there to give him a lovely hug and a pat on the back to help ease the pain. Flug prayed for someone to walk into his room, shake him wildly by the collar and slap him across the face a few times. Worried, he slapped himself. It occurred to him that he was alone, in a dark bathroom in the early morning, freezing, soaking and slapping himself, and he somehow found it in himself to feel worse. He couldn’t entertain these thoughts, he decided. Thinking about them invited more, and inviting more meant thinking about them, which then invited even more, and that was a slippery slope to thinking of tender, sweet moments in Black Hat’s room. Perhaps Flug was teaching him to play the flute, passing on the rudimentary lessons he received as a child, and neither of them would be particularly good but it wasn’t the playing that was fun, but the learning—

Flug reapplied the sink to his face. Oh, God! What was this! What was he doing! This was so much easier when Black Hat hung around and scowled and set fire to hospitals and refused to engage in conversation outside of business matters, now he’s talking and liking things! No, more than that, he must have always liked things, but now he has the audacity to be honest about it! Why did he have to like things! That stupid Ghould he loved so much and that stupid dead snake, his passion for antiques and his record collection, why did he have to have hobbies, interests, preferences, why couldn’t he just exist in an empty black cube and emerge every once in a while, spike an infant like a football and retreat to the empty cube to sit there! What kind of evil, godforsaken creature has a favourite teacup!

Flug thudded the sink with his hand. “A teacup!”

Flug, despite Black Hat’s temper, despite Black Hat’s total detachment from the modern world, liked Black Hat. In the mansion he was sullen, arrogant, spoiled and unbearable, but out here he was sullen, arrogant, spoiled and, though Flug couldn’t believe he was saying this, fun! He was fun to be around, Black Hat, the Black Hat, fun! And Flug struggled to make sense of it all; Black Hat had no redeeming qualities to him, even humbled he was an awful, ill-tempered man but somehow, in some way, his many, many horrible qualities mashed together and cancelled each other out in a way that made him great company. Repulsively arrogant, but an unmatched musician! Acid-tongued and ruthless, but quick and bold! His character was, in some aspects, so astonishingly vile that it looped around to endearing, and it was made even worse by his real and growing desire for companionship in a world out to get him. Flug needed to see him. He dressed quickly, dried his hair and covered his face. He crept into the next room, softly, every movement in the morning had to be soft or it didn’t feel right. He clicked the door shut and peered into the darkness, looking for Black Hat and Dementia.

“Guys,” Flug whispered, “it’s time to wake up.”

Flug’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw that the bed was empty. Confusion gripped him until his gaze drifted downwards and he spied a thin, dark leg jutting out from the gap under the bed, as well as a pale arm. They must have been stacked on one another like flapjacks.

“Reptiles,” Flug sighed. “We have a big day, get up.”

Black Hat groused from under the bed, still asleep.

“I know,” Flug said, his heart fluttering (the worst creature to ever live wants to sleep in, oh, oh how sweet!). “I want to stay in bed too, but you need to get up.”

Flug gently kicked Black Hat in the leg to rouse him. Black Hat made an awful noise somewhere between an inhale and a scream, forcing Flug to clutch his head. Flug heard a sharp, metallic clack as Black Hat thrashed his claws to and fro in half-awake fear, forcing Dementia out of the den. She staggered forward in her underwear and moved to attack Flug, seeing him to be some sort of intruder in her exhausted panic. She snapped out of it by the time she grabbed his shirt, blinking dozily. “Oh, hell,” she said, dropping him. “It’s just you, sorry.”

Flug, bewildered, stood there. Dementia hissed in pain, clutching her arm. She nursed a long, bleeding cut on her forearm. Flug examined her arm and dutifully searched the medicine bag, disinfecting and bandaging the area.

“Goddamn,” she said. “I don’t wanna be somebody he’s trying to hurt.”

“Are you okay?”

“Me?” She laughed. “Pfft, yeah. I’ve been in worse scrapes. I’m just letting you do this so you don’t fuss. Look, I can make it bleed more, watch this.”

Flug cut her off, scolding her and wagging his finger as she moved her arms about and laughed. Black Hat’s hissing and biting died down and made way for actual words. “I’m… Wh— where am I?”

Black Hat pushed himself up and clattered his head on the bed frame.

“Ow— why am I under the bed!”

“I dunno,” Dementia said, bearing no ill-will. “I crawled under there after I got up for the bathroom. You must have joined me.”

“Oh,” Black Hat said weakly. “Oh. My dignity.”

“It’s comfy,” she enthused to Flug as if he had need of hidey-holes. “It’s like a big ol’ hug. Nearly as tight as Black Hat, you big snuggler,” she cooed. Flug was glad she couldn’t see his face.

Black Hat emerged from the crevice under the bed, shuddering and shaking from the cold despite being wrapped in the duvet. “Hm…?”

Black Hat noticed Dementia’s scratches and found his gaze drawn to his long, tumid claws, shimmering like metal. Sinew, like rope, bulged. Flug watched with rapt attention as it moved and writhed to the beat of Black Hat’s heart, a twisted and sickly protrusion covered in teeth.

“Ah,” Black Hat said, sheepish. He dismissed it and Flug watched the meat fall back into his scales. He cleared his throat. “I should probably apologize.”

Flug and Dementia waited, looking at him. Black Hat peered back, tucking his arm under the duvet until only his head was visible. “What,” Black Hat snapped. “Does that not count?”

“No,” Flug said, exaggerating the movement of his hands as he patched up Dementia. “No, Black Hat, it doesn’t.”

“I’m…”

Black Hat grimaced as if swallowing bitter medicine.

“I am— I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

Flug took on a stern tone, the same tone he took with 5.0.5 when he broke something. “For…?”

“I’ve already made amends, haven’t I!”

“For?” Dementia said, not needing an apology but happy to tease him.

“For trying to separate your gullet from the rest of your body,” Black Hat grumped. “It wasn’t deliberate, you know! If I wanted to kill you, you would already be dead!”

“This isn’t a good apology,” Flug said.

“It’s the best you’re getting,” Black Hat responded.

“New rule. Wake you from a distance.”

“Advisable,” Black Hat muttered, lying on top of the bed and finding a more conventional position, “I’m getting worse. Ugh, I’m exhausted. It feels like my eyelids are nailed to the ground. Today is going to be a long one.”

“Yeah,” Dementia responded, yawning and swaying. “I need another twelve hours.”

“Go wash, I need time. I’m not awake yet.”

“Neither am I,” she whined, clambering back into the duvet. Black Hat blocked her movements with an extended leg.

“Come on, you first. I need my rest. Since I’m dying.”

Black Hat feigned a weak cough.

Dementia sulked, gathered up her clothes from the floor and thudded into the bathroom, hitting her side on the doorframe in her stupor and slamming the door. The showed creaked to life. Black Hat entombed himself in the duvet, wiggling. “Warm,” he mumbled.

“You’re really going to pull the ‘I’m dying’ card for an extra five minutes in bed?” Flug asked, shaking his head.

“I’m knackered. Unless you want to join me, hmm…?”

Flug glanced at the bathroom door, shushing him fearfully. Black Hat laughed, bleary-eyed and yawning. Black Hat slowed, then stopped. A pathetic snore escaped his lips. Flug, having learned his lesson, threw his shoe at Black Hat and avoided a mauling. After another instance of dozing off and the impact of the second shoe, Black Hat was regretfully awake.

“How did you sleep, sir?”

“Like a tranquillized rhino. A bomb could go off under me and I wouldn’t rouse.”

“Did you have a nightmare? You really hurt Dementia.”

Something, something that almost looked like remorse, flashed across Black Hat’s face. He squashed it at once. “Barely a scratch! And, as much as it sickens me, I did apologize. A nightmare, pah! I don’t have nightmares, Flug, I am a nightmare.”

“I see.”

“Good.”

Flug waited. Black Hat bit the skin off his lips, clinging to his pride.

“But, for the sake of argument,” Black Hat said, “I was having a nightmare—”

Flug rolled his eyes.

“You wouldn’t… Think any less of me, would you?”

“No, Black Hat. They happen.”

“Good. Not that I’m having them, of course. I’m being thorough.”

“I believe you, sir.”

Another silence. Black Hat bit his lip and fretted again. Flug waited patiently.

“I dream I’m doing… Something,” Black Hat admitted, sacrificing all pretence. “It’s always something interesting, something a little unusual but always something I’ve done. Leading a chevauchée, or assassinating some poncy dignitary. Everything is going as well as it could. If I’m in battle, I’m winning. If I’m shapeshifting, I’m hidden. If I’m charming, I’m a delight. But, in the middle, sometimes I’m raising a toast or running a man through, I look down and I’m rotting alive. My clothes are in tatters, my skin is peeling off like dry paper, my insides are a brown, stringy sludge. Pouring out of me, every pore I have, every orifice, I can’t really see for the mess. And the moment I open my mouth to protest my jaw is gone and my tongue drips down to my clavicle, no matter how long I wait to speak. But everyone around me continues as if nothing has changed.”

They were quiet, the mood heavy.

“... Aren’t dreams supposed to be cryptic?” Flug asked.

Black Hat, caught off guard, laughed. “Perhaps! Remember, I don’t often sleep. This is new. My brain just isn’t used to giving me cryptic visions to interpret and I have to train it up. Maybe I’ll be stuck at ‘rotting carcass’ for a few weeks and then everything will get vague and nonsensical. Sorry my horrific suffering isn’t quite interesting enough for you, doctor.”

“Oh,” Flug said, sheepish, “I didn’t mean—”

“Once I saw myself off in the distance, looking on. In my worst, most fearful moments, I see how I should be. An ephemeral beast looking on at this thing unsuccessfully piloting a hunk of meat to an undignified end. What happened to me?”

“I don’t think you’re a ‘thing’.”

“Yes, Flug, I’m well aware you have lots of little theories for what I am. They’re an amusement, but they’re not a comfort.”

“Then what is?”

Black Hat looked away, refusing to engage this line of thought.

“I find it’s talking,” Flug offered gently.

“The worst bit,” Black Hat hissed, flicking his tongue and pointedly cutting off Flug, “is the stench. Death has a sweet, pungent smell before it turns sour. You know what I mean. It’s pleasant. Heady and floral.”

Flug nodded, knowing the smell but disagreeing.

“This wasn’t that smell,” Black Hat said. “It was rot. Proper rot, rot from something still alive. It’s cloying. Like sucking on a cheap perfume, it gets up the back of your throat and into your skull. When I think of it, I can smell it. Before I forget...”

Flug squinted. “Hmm?”

“... Dementia walked in and asked me to be nicer to you. You’re a grown man. Don’t get someone to fight your battles. It’s sad.”

Flug didn’t respond. He looked at the bathroom door, unsure where to begin.

“But after that,” Black Hat continued, “things got… Odd. I disrobed for the night and I expected some kind of clumsy innuendo, or for her to pass out from joy, or… Something salacious, I suppose, but she started sobbing. Into the pillow. I mentioned I had seen better days, yes, but I’m not that hard to look at. I got a bit indignant, actually.”

Flug looked at Black Hat, bewildered. He was shocked he hadn’t heard this. “What did you do?”

“Well, I thought about all those self-help books you prattled on about. ‘Self-esteem’, ‘emotional support’, all that kind of... Nonsense."

Black Hat tapped his fingers, out of his depth.

"You have to understand, I’m not very well-versed in sincerely helping. Just, you know, making people think I help. I did the only thing I could think of. I ordered her to stop crying because she was being very selfish and it was really bringing down my mood.”

“Oh. Oh no.”

“It’s very easy to ‘oh no’ now, isn’t it? I’m good at making people cry, less so at getting them to stop. Part of the job, you see.”

“How did she take that?”

“Horribly. I’m shocked you didn’t hear her, she wept like an infant. I couldn’t sleep for the noise, I pointed out that I’m the one dying here, not her, so she should stop making it all about her and focus on me instead.”

Flug pinched the bridge of his nose.

“She was inconsolable,” Black Hat continued. “I just rolled over and hoped she would tire herself out. She wouldn’t stop. She hooked her arms under mine and clung to my back like a gibbon.”

Black Hat paused, narrowing his eyes. He shushed Flug and flicked his tongue in the air, tasting it. “Dementia,” he shouted, “stop using my body wash.”

She floundered in the other room, astonished. “How the hell...?”

“Seal that bottle up right now.”

“Alright, alright,” she laughed, admitting defeat. “I’m sealing.”

Flug felt his guts twist, he spoke before he thought. “Did you two…?”

“Did we what?”

Flug, not wanting to say it, put on a crude puppet theatre with his fingers.

“Sleep together?” Black Hat asked, gawking. “No! I fear she’ll flounce off if she gets what she wants. The point of a carrot on a stick is that it’s on a stick. Otherwise, it’s just a carrot. And then the donkey leaves. And then you die.”

Flug felt a twinge of irritation. His tone wasn’t meant to be accusing but it very much was. “That’s the only reason?”

“Well, her fixation on me doesn’t help. It’s unnerving. Personality doesn’t matter so much in a tryst, but I have to live with her so it counts for everything. Flug, are you jealous?”

“No,” he said, too quickly, “no. No, I’m not. I’m not at all. What you do is your business.”

Black Hat glanced at the bathroom door. Steam slinked through the crack at the bottom and he smiled, looking like the slimy, leering old man he was. “I wouldn’t mind doing business with her,” he admitted, running his long tongue across his teeth. “The problem isn’t with her appearance…”

Black Hat’s tongue rapped gently against his palette as he spoke. “Not her looks at all. Not-one-bit. Have you seen her figure? The hips on that woman, it’s the crazy ones that are great in bed—!”

“She wants you to impregnate her,” Flug blurted.

The wind was well and truly out of Black Hat’s sails. The boat was also on fire. He reeled back as if struck. He hissed to keep his voice low. “What do you mean, impregnate?”

“‘To make pregnant’,” Flug whispered back, leaning in until they were huddled conspiratorially. Black Hat held his hand to his face to aid their secrecy and Flug couldn’t help but notice how nice and thin his lips were.

“Now isn’t the time to joke, I know what it means, idiot, I know what it means! Did she say this?”

“She implied it.”

“Dementia couldn’t imply a drink in a bar! Did she say this? Out loud? With words?”

“She asked ‘are chimaeras sterile’.”

Black Hat looked at him. “Well? Are they?”

“I think,” Flug admitted. “Sir, I don’t know half of what’s going on in her body. I didn’t think she would survive the, you know…”

Flug mimed the sawing, the cutting, the needles.

“Stop miming,” Black Hat spat, exhausted.

“I was going to use her corpse as research material so I didn’t think it mattered if the procedures weren’t…”

Flug hemmed on the words, thinking on how to tactfully phrase it.

“… ‘Conducive to being alive’. She was the test run, she was the guinea pig for a first attempt, I don’t know how she’s still walking! So no, sir, I don’t know if she’s sterile! She could start laying eggs and eating her own skin; I don’t know because I took the big metaphorical jar named ‘lizard’, cracked her open and just started throwing shit in there! I’m amazed her cells aren’t melting!”

Black Hat shushed him, keeping an eye on the door. “As much as I love bickering, we have nothing to bicker about. Even if she was the most fecund woman in all of existence it’s... An impossibility. So just calm down. You’re getting wound up.”

“Are you sterile?”

“Oh,” Black Hat scoffed, disgusted. “What do you think, doctor?”

“I. Don’t. Know,” Flug repeated. “If you asked me at the start of all this I would say ‘of course’ but you’re like a… Buffet of… Stuff that doesn’t work together.”

“Not a poet, are you?”

“Your biology is nonsensical! Maybe you shit centipedes and fire lava from your fingertips, I don’t know, nothing makes sense anymore!”

“Only on a full moon.”

Flug held his head in his hands and took a long, deep breath. “I feel like I’m going mad,” Flug said. “This entire situation is absurd. Everything! All of it! I didn’t even see Game of Thrones,” he bemoaned. “I’m too busy sleeping on dirt and puking in the back of Dementia’s weed van.”

“There will be time for incestuous pornography later,” Black Hat said severely, laying a cold hand on Flug’s shoulder. “Now is the time for action.”

“Please don’t believe Dementia when she tells you about the things I watch,” Flug croaked.

“Look,” Black Hat said, “look. One of me is enough and I’m not entertaining whatever thoughts she has otherwise. For now, let her think whatever she wants to think. We can’t risk her leaving. If she brings it up, I’ll play stupid.”

“Right.”

“This conversation never happened.”

“Right,” Flug said, calming down. “Right. Good. I can’t even picture what horrible… Thing she’s imagining.”

“Let’s not dwell on it.”

Flug nodded. They broke their little huddle, retreating to a respectable distance. “Have you… Ever thought about it?” Flug asked innocently. “You know. Children.”

Black Hat looked at him, dumbstruck, baffled he would ever ask such a question.

“I’m just curious,” Flug said. “I know you’ve been married once or twice.”

“Fifty-three times, yes. For money and land. That’s it. Cold, hard, self-serving pragmatism, no love at all.”

Flug, to the detriment of his own dignity, tried to sound a little hopeful. “No love at all?”

“I had to pretend here and there but no, nothing that could be considered ‘sincere’.”

“... Is that soul-crushing?”

“No. If it’s the easiest way to wealth, it’s the easiest way to wealth. You find some old, ailing bint, butter her up a bit and get whatever it is you want. All you have to trade is your presence, your body now and then. Lonely people are trusting people, trusting people are stupid people, stupid people become poor people. It’s the way of the world.”

“Isn’t that harsh?”

“No. I killed their children, anyway. We never got along. Probably because I murdered their fathers in the first place. Whinging little brats grabbing at the inheritance, bah. The world had too many.”

“We’re ‘poor people’,” Flug mused, casually ignoring Black Hat’s fondness for brutally killing children. “Compared to what we had, I mean.”

“True,” Black Hat nodded, conceding the point. “True, we are. If I hadn’t trusted you to do your job I would be sipping whisky in my study and listening to Gershwin.”

Flug shrugged, sheepish. “I just wondered if maybe, you know, you’d…”

Flug wrung his hands as he tried to think of the right word. Black Hat scrutinized him, unblinking.

“... Spawned? Outside of—”

Black Hat cut him off, his voice clipped. “Don’t call that awful thing my spawn.”

“Some of your blood is in there. It’s not the same as fathering 5.0.5, but it’s more than nothing.”

“It’s less than nothing, I hate it, I hate it more than I’ve ever hated anything in my life. Every cell in my body boils with contempt and every moment I forget about it is my happiest. Your experiment was a mistake and I was a fool to ever agree.”

“In any other circumstance I would agree with you,” Flug said, nodding, “you set out specific goals and my product failed to meet them. But he’s my special boy and he smells like lemons and gumdrops.”

Black Hat scrunched up his face, sticking his tongue out in disgust. He kicked and angled himself under the duvet, trying to find the warmest spot. “Are you doting? Stop doting, I don’t care about your little scapegrace and I never will. This talk of children is wasted on me. Dynasties, dynasties, dynasties, everyone around me was obsessed with them for the longest time. I never saw the point. Why bother if you’re not going to be the one to reap the rewards? Oh, wonderful, your great-great-granddaughter might marry a Spanish prince. And get decapitated. You’ll be able to enjoy that from the grave. For the sake of argument; why sow seeds to slowly encroach on the fertile lands of others when I can storm into the orchard and start jamming apples into my mouth there and then? Reproduction is part of the cycle of life. I’m not part of the cycle, not like that, so it’s of no use to me. Children make me sick. All they do is eat, complain until they get their way and shit, could you imagine being around something so useless?”

“I’d know that feeling even if I didn’t have 5.0.5,” Flug muttered under his breath.

Black Hat whipped the shoe back at him, hitting Flug in the knee. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that!”

“It’s very rewarding,” Flug said, nursing his leg. “I could go on—”

Black Hat tossed the other shoe and Flug and missed, clipping the mini fridge. “Curse my depth perception,” he spat. “Don’t start! I know you’re about to start.”

“I won’t,” Flug sighed, fearing for the safety of his knees.

“Good.”

“I’m wistful, I guess,” Flug said, starting. “I wasn’t allowed pets after the... the incident. But he’s so smart that it really is like looking after a child. He used to be the size of a pinto bean, all pink and lumpy. I never thought I would have a kid, it didn’t even enter my mind. I always had so much work to do... Isn’t he just the cutest?”

“Unbelievable,” Black Hat muttered, burying his head in the pillow. “You’re really going to do this to me? When I don’t have the strength to leave? You’re really that awful parent walking around, showing off pictures of his ugly children to people who don’t care? Have you no shame?”

“Pictures!” Flug exclaimed, reaching for his wallet. “I forgot, I have so many pictures—”

“Even I think this is inhumane. Me. The man who invented the notorious fruit-in-cock torture; The Endurian.”

Flug pulled out a very tattered photo. It was of an infant 5.0.5, repulsively cute and dipping his hands in various coloured paints with the innocent glee only a child could muster. “Here he is painting with his paws,” Flug cooed. “He was so fat.”

“You’ve repulsed the very essence of wrong itself. Flug. You have a gift. I would be impressed if I wasn’t so filled with rage.”

“Here he is playing in a field… Here he is eating honey, look, I had a little plane spoon!”

Flug showed off the picture. He, indeed, had a little plane spoon.

“You do realise if I vomited you would perish in horrible agony. I did tell you what happened. To my last assistant. I warned you on the very first day.”

“Here he is dancing— oh, my thumb was over the lens. I’m not really a photographer,” Flug laughed.

Black Hat’s voice was deathly cold, devoid of any love, care or sentiment. “The second it slid out of that vat I should have crushed it to death under my heel. Slow and painful, until it cracked. I should have pasted it over the tiles and ordered you to start again.”

“He loves to colour in.”

“You… You aren’t even listening, of course.”

“He can solve basic math problems—”

“Flug. Flug, I’m still here. Flug. Flug. This is ridiculous. You’re not listening to me, Flug. Flug. Pay attention to me, Flug. Flug, listen. Flug. Flug, listen to me.”

“His learning is really accelerated, but that’s normal, obviously. I am the one raising him after all—”

“Flug, please. I’m already gravid,” Black Hat said, his face stern and his tone as icy. “I’m positively swollen with eggs and this talk of progeny is making my veins quiver with parental instinct. If you don’t stop I’ll just lactate here and now. I sweat milk through arms so I have to squat, expel my reproductive foam and flap wildly like a shot duck. I hope I hit one of my screaming tadpoles with nutrition or my species is doomed.”

“And…” Flug shook his head harshly as Black Hat’s words sank in. “Wait, what?”

“My old assistant is the father.”

Flug’s spirit fell as he recalled that Black Hat spoke sometimes. “You’re… Making fun of me.”

Black Hat brought a closed fist to his mouth. He exhaled slowly. “Dr Flug, when would I ever? You’re a trusted confidant. A colleague. And it pains me to say but… A friend. Everything I say is in complete sincerity.”

“Thanks,” Flug mumbled sourly, his mood ruined.

“It’s no problem,” Black Hat said in the same businesslike tone. “Now grab my teats and start tugging; I have a family to feed.”

Flug scowled at him and Black Hat allowed himself the luxury of finally laughing. Flug tossed a shoe at him, Black Hat scowled and tossed it back, until they were doing nothing but scowling and throwing shoes at one another.

“Enough,” Black Hat barked when it hit his chest, “enough! This ends now. What time is it?”

“About seven,” Flug replied.

Black Hat baulked. “Seven? Seven o’clock? How do you people live like this! Seven hours of a new day, wasted! I’m not going to miss sleep when this is all sorted out. Maybe I’ll just ban it entirely, or tax it. I’ll see how I’m feeling. Dementia’s menstruation frustrations have put me in the mood for something morally repugnant.”

“I’m starting to think you’re not committed to the idea but just wanted an excuse to say those two words aloud and next to each other.”

“You would be correct,” he admitted. “It’s still not a bad idea, you know. Maybe I’ll scream at the top of my lungs every time someone on the planet starts to doze off, that would be a lark.”

“Including me, right.”

“You were already pushing your luck with the four hours I let you have in the manor.”

Flug sat on the bed beside him, as hungry for sleep as Black Hat and further exhausted by the horrific reality of light exercise. He contemplated sinking back into the mattress and putting the day off for a while, teasing himself with the thought. “Don’t beat yourself up, sir. Your body needs the rest.”

“‘My body’ needs you to cease your infernal nagging.”

“You can’t say anything else because you know I’m right.”

Dementia emerged from the bathroom, her uneven locks sodden and her clothes wrinkled and haphazard. She yawned and nodded to the shower. Black Hat groaned, stood and rose to his full height, shaking off the duvet. Dementia’s gaze plummeted downwards, as did Flug’s. _“Morning!”_ she beamed, her mood lifted.

Black Hat mumbled something unsavoury. He padded to the bathroom and bumped the door shut with his hip.

“If the whole ‘evil overlord’ thing falls through he’s got a hell of a career as a sundial,” Dementia said, clambering back into bed.

“You’re climbing in with your clothes on?” Flug asked, bewildered.

“Yeah, duh. I don’t have to do anything until he gets out, I’m taking a post-sleep power nap. Sleeping really takes it out of you. D’aww, he left a cold patch, the big… Snakey man...”

“Look, about last n—”

Dementia was gone. She lay, sprawled, face down on the bed like an exhausted starfish.

“How do you people do this?” Flug asked aloud, to nobody. “How do you fall asleep so quickly? Do you lapse into comas? Do you have strokes? Are you being poisoned? Are you concussed— well, you might be— am I boring? This isn’t natural. Seriously, look. It’s not hard.”

Flug crawled into bed beside her. He swore up and down this was an expression of his monumental willpower; that he could be in bed in an exhausted state and not fall asleep. Upon sensing sources of heat, Flug and Dementia flopped uselessly at one another and fell asleep. They slept much like young siblings do when they tire of fighting just long enough to doze with the assumption that they will resume with just as much fervour when awake. But, for now, they were content enough to be near one another and held. Near another person, another human, in a wide, cold and sleepless world that didn’t care about them. Chaste and, even if they would never admit it to one another, appreciated. Something cold and sharp pinched the bare flesh of his ankles and Flug, fearing a nightmarish insect, yelped and retracted his foot. Black Hat rolled his eyes, dressed in his crisp suit, waistcoat and spatterdashes, envious of their choice to stay in bed a little while longer.

“I don’t know what’s happening here and I don’t care to,” Black Hat said curtly, rubbing at the prominent bags under his eyes. He waggled a newspaper in his hand, presumably pilfered from the front desk. He tossed it at Flug. “This is our plan for today.”

‘’’Eight foods that are secretly giving you diabetes’?”

“No.”

Black Hat found the correct page, fumbling and cursing, and tossed it down again. It was a tiny box, swimming in other ads, near the very back page.

‘CHARITY FUN DAY; FOOD, MUSIC, ENTERTAINMENT— COME ALONG AND SUPPORT A GOOD CAUSE’

“Oh,” Black Hat cried out, “the very thought pains me! Disaster relief, illness— any illness that isn’t mine— feeding the ugly, ugly poor, the list goes on and on! How can the people that take that money live with themselves? How can they live, knowing they’re so lazy? And don’t get me bloody started on—”

Black Hat shuddered violently, his whole body twisting in revulsion.

 _“Orphans,”_ Black Hat seethed through gritted teeth, his voice taking on an unnatural and infernal quality, “how they sicken me to my very core. They could be working with those tiny hands, instead they sit there, growing fat and taunting me with their child labour laws! The arrogance of it! Do they have any idea how lucky they are to be able to navigate life without two idiots lording over them and fussing, the thought makes me want to vomit and die!”

“Are you hungry?”

“A little!”

“Do you want to stop for a snack before we go?”

“Maybe!”

“You’re working yourself up, sir,” Flug pointed out gently. “It’s not good for you.”

“‘Not good for me’, pah, it’s the best thing there is! And I’ll have you know lashing with the rancid whip of hate is good for you, it’s like coating your soul in honey.”

“You’re terminally ill in a hotel that can’t afford ice. And don’t have a soul.”

“I’m speaking figuratively,” Black Hat grunted. “Wake the lizard.”

Flug awkwardly unhooked Dementia’s arms from around him and shook her shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently, “get up. We’re on the move.”

“No, mom,” she murmured, sinking further into the pillow. “It’s a snow day…”

“I’m not your mother and it’s not snowing, you have to get up.”

“Man, nobody is my mom…”

Black Hat, impatient, gripped her ankle with his claws, pricking the skin and waking her up. She lunged up, ready to strike. “Wha—? What’s going on? What? What— huh?”

 _“Orphans,”_ Black Hat seethed in the same hellish tone of voice.

“Oh, cool,” Dementia said. “I’m all caught up. Let’s go.”

“No, no. No,” Flug said, “no. No, I need more information, we need a plan.”

“Must you insist on being so reasonable?” Black Hat grumbled. “I was thinking we go in, guns blazing, steal, maybe kill a few people, then flee. Stealing from charity is statistically eight times more evil than a normal theft so this should really put some smoke in my pipe. But it’s a public appearance and it’s going to require a hell of a bluff. I can do it, can you two?”

“Yeah,” Dementia exclaimed.

Flug stuttered. “Um—”

“Wonderful,” Black Hat said, “don’t screw this up. A lovely Black Hat Organization outing. It’s time to wrest victory from fete!”

Flug choked before finally finding his voice. “You can’t appear in public like this, look at your hands!”

“Au contraire, idiot. You forget how I normally conduct myself.” Black Hat stood to attention, his elbows jutting sharply as he held his hands behind his back. He looked every bit the towering horror he was. “Ideally,” he said, “we’ll be killing before we’re noticed which should lessen the shakes anyway. Besides, it will just be some poxy little thing. All I have to do is show up, do a bit of scaring and leave. Should anyone get… Rowdy, Dementia can take care of it.”

“What about the raid on the mansion,” Dementia piped up. “They might start looking elsewhere.”

“Then we lie and say we’re still living in it! It’s not that outlandish, you know. If I can galavant about with pocket dimensions I’m sure the public will believe I have a secret entrance somewhere.”

Flug picked at the skin on his hands, fretting.

“I don’t know why you’re so hesitant,” Black Hat sighed, “it will be children, Flug. Volunteers. People you can push over. You’ll finally have something to bully for the first time in your life, you should be looking forward to this.”

“You’re right,” Flug said. “You’re right. I’m worried, I guess.”

“Worried?”

“What if I get hurt?”

“What if you do? You can’t just sit here while Dementia and I have all the fun. Cut loose for once in your life, we’ll be there.”

Flug looked between Black Hat and Dementia, oddly touched by the horrible sentiment. “No… No, you’re right! I want to do something!”

Black Hat looked pleasantly surprised. He treated Flug to an amiable pat on the shoulder, a warm smile on his face. “That’s the spirit, Slys.”

Black Hat strode to the door and span on his heels to face them. He puffed on his monocle, wiped it on his lapel and slotted it into place over his eye, his glee evident. The exuberance and anticipation of a far younger man flowed through him and Flug got the sense that they, the three of them, were truly in this together.

“Let’s go ruin some lives,” Black Hat said, exposing his razor-sharp teeth.

“Group hug,” Dementia squealed, ruining it.

“No,” Black Hat hissed, the smile falling from his face, “no, no no.”

“Group hug,” Flug exclaimed, joining her.

“No,” Black Hat repeated, “I don’t do…”

Apathy brought on by age won in the end. Black Hat sighed in resignation. It was difficult to see the slight upturn to his mouth.

“I can’t win with you people. Make it quick.”

Black Hat awkwardly held his arms up whilst Flug and Dementia scooted themselves in place. They shared a strange, tender moment. Dementia, happy to be holding Black Hat. Flug, happy to be held at all. Black Hat with his arms above his head as if carrying a wicker basket.

“Thanks, guys,” Flug said.

“It’s like hugging a burlap sack full of roadkill,” Dementia cooed.

“I don’t know what that means,” Black Hat said. “You two have had enough, get off.”

Black Hat grasped them by the collar and peeled them off. After checking on 5.0.5 the three of them crept out of the fire exit, taking care not to be seen by any pernicious residents or wandering crackheads. Flug cleaned out the van as best he could with his limited resources and climbed in, Dementia and Black Hat sitting in the front once again. On the way, they stopped for food, even as Flug lamented all the damage this junk was going to do to his body and Dementia enthused about all the junk she could finally put into her body. He took pancakes, Dementia crammed a few cheeseburgers in her maw as she drove and Black Hat nibbled at his child-sized fun-salad with a small side of thirty-eight portions of chicken devoured in a way that made Flug retch. Black Hat resorted to breaking and eating the bones by the time they arrived even as Flug pleaded with him to stop for the sake of his own stomach. The van was tucked neatly on the outskirts of the open field, hidden in the makeshift staff car park and a fair distance away from the ongoing festivities, closer to the unoccupied back than the bustling front. Humidity and the stench of cooked meat hung in the air, as well as music and cheap candy.

“Over there,” Black Hat said, nodding in the distance. “Back entrance, one guard. Half-asleep by the looks of it. Oh, the unsuspecting fools.”

“— Like a wheat thresher for meat…” Flug croaked, thoroughly unnerved. “A meat thresher…”

“Flug. Flug, on me.”

“Do you think we’ll have time to go on the rides?” Dementia asked, hopeful.

“No,” Black Hat replied.

“C’mon? Even one? One teeny ride? Look, they’ve got a slingshot!”

“No.”

“... Pwease?” she cooed.

“No! Don’t you ever say that again!”

“Pwetty pwease?”

“If I catch you on that I will shimmy up and bite the cord in half until centrifugal force turns you into pink slop,” he spat, “this is not a merry jaunt, we are here for a grim and terrible purpose. And stop ‘pweasing’ at me, it turns my stomachs!”

“Can I play for a stuffed animal? I drove past a kid with a Funshine Bear and I really want one.”

Black Hat cried out in frustration. “No!”

“... Can I steal one?”

“I suppose stealing is evil enough to— no! No, I’m not bloody indulging you, no! We go in, we do what we must, we leave. End of discussion.”

Flug leaned forward. “Can I go on a ride?”

“I will turn this van around! I will turn this van around and plough into a wall, don’t make me do it! Both of you, get out and do as I command, you are worse than children!”

“You’d be Grumpy Bear,” Dementia groused.

“5.0.5 would love to be here,” Flug sighed. “I hope he’s doing OK, I know we’re all ‘evil’ and ‘scum of the earth’ and stuff but I don’t feel right leaving him—”

Black Hat climbed out, slamming the door. Sighing, Flug and Dementia emerged, following Black Hat as he strode up the dirt path to the back. They were met by an older man, who had long since grown tired of this job, thumbing through a magazine and sat on a stool. Upon sensing an unfamiliar presence he glanced up, his automatic response already half-out.

“Sorry pal,” he droned, “staff o—”

The guard clasped his hands to his mouth as he realized what he was talking to, falling into a horrified silence. Black Hat hesitated, waiting for something, but settled on grabbing his throat with his claws. As it turned to a pulp of red meat and fluid the man clutched his neck futilely, thrashing and pawing in an attempt to breathe. He sank to the ground, burbling and squelching like wet mud.

“Hm,” Black Hat said disdainfully, stepping over him. Flug stood twiddling at his hands, unsure of what to do. In the time he spent fiddling Dementia grabbed the twitching mass by the leg and dragged it a few feet away, out of sight from the inner path. She dusted off her hands and jogged after Black Hat, Flug close behind.

“Flug,” Black Hat said, sucking at his bloodied fingers, “up on stage with me. I saw a sign for half-price hot dogs so be prepared to dodge. Dementia, show yourself onstage, vanish and then skulk in the crowd. Your presence should be enough to scare everyone into compliance but deal with anybody that looks like they’re starting trouble.”

She saluted. “Sir, yes sir!”

They rounded the corner, the hubbub of the crowd and the off-key thrum of the music closer to them. They walked briskly down the path and took a sharp left, coming across a man in a high visibility jacket who mistook their clothing for costumes.

“The hell do you think you’re doing back h—”

The man, upon seeing Black Hat and realising he was very real, threw himself to the cold, hard ground and prostrated himself, forehead to dirt. Black Hat let out an appreciate hum, retracting his claws. His voice was calm and even, his ego stroked. “Finally. Radio.”

The man pulled it from his belt, his head still to the ground, and held it aloft. Dementia took it from him and crushed it in her hand, throwing scraps away. “What should we do with him?”

“Hm. Well,” Black Hat said, “he just gave up the lives of every man, woman and child in this wretched place to save his own skin, so nothing too harsh. Good boys get treats, after all. Dementia?”

“I say we let him go,” she said, gesturing to the empty field, “and I chase him down.”

“Ah, if only we had the time. Flug?”

Flug blinked, recalling that he was there.

“Flug?” Black Hat repeated, encouraging him. “What do you think?”

Flug fussed at his hands. He looked at the security guard. A slightly younger man, large, but not muscular, who could beat Flug in a fight. But he couldn’t beat Dementia, and he wouldn’t dare try to tackle Black Hat. If he tried to scream he would be gutted after the first syllable. He was weak. He was powerless. A brittle bone under the paw of a cat. Flug felt giddy. He felt as he did in the lab when he played with the chromosomes of beasts, stacking them in merry patterns and throwing them away when he felt like it.

“Stay like that for two minutes,” Flug said. “When it’s over, run in the other direction as fast as you can. If you scream...”

Flug looked at Black Hat for approval. Black Hat looked at him, smiling and nodding as if encouraging a child to ride a bike.

“I’ll kill you,” Flug breathed, gripping the handle of his knife. “Do you hear me?”

The man didn’t answer, terrified out of his wits. Flug brought his foot down on his hand, pressing his sneakers in.

“Do you hear me?” He repeated, feeling a rising, festering hate in his chest and delighting in it.

“Yes,” it sobbed. Black Hat nodded, motioning for them to follow him and leave it be.

“How was it?” Black Hat asked.

“That felt really good,” Flug stammered, exhilarated and in dire need of a cigarette. “Really… Really good.”

Black Hat gave him a look, telling Flug what they would get up to that night with a simple glance. “Doesn’t it just?”

Flug smiled so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Should things go south, and I mean really south, I shall vanish in a puff of malevolent smoke and reappear nearby. We will reconvene at the Van of Villainy and flee.”

“How will I get out of there?”

“You will move one foot in front of the other very quickly, propelling you forward and away from danger. I believe they call it ‘running’, Flug. Remember, these people don’t know about our bloody… Campfire sing-songs and group hugs and basket-weaving— oh, what am I doing with my life— whatever other hippy commune nonsense you people insist on dragging me into. I demand the utmost respect out there.”

Dementia nodded, her speech mostly unchanged. “Yes, Black Hat,” Flug said.

Black Hat gave him a withering look.

“... Yes, dark lord master sir.”

Black Hat puffed up, some of his missing pride returning. “Better!”

They waited in the wings, unseen by the spattering of staff onstage as they climbed the stairs. Dementia yawned, limbering up her shoulders. “What kind of entrance should I make?”

“Dramatic.”

“Got it.”

A woman, clad in colourful clothing, chattered into the microphone on the open, dingy stage. She was so focused on her clipboard that she didn’t notice the look of dawning terror on the audience in front of her.

“Next up we have a local band, here’s hoping they…”

Black Hat stood politely beside her and waited. She looked up.

“Go… Far…”

Black Hat nodded to the microphone and she threw herself away from it, scrambling off the stage. He cleared his throat, addressing the paralysed rabble. _“Hello.”_

Dementia picked up the sound guy by the leg and hurled him into the audience like a shot put. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love! friendship! horrible, horrible murder! begging dementia on my hands and knees to work on her self-esteem! all of them crowd pweasers!
> 
> thank you for being patient! have a super duper chunky chapter to make up for it. hope you enjoy!


	13. RUINING CHARITY

                                                                                                                               

The crowd, save for the couple crushed by the flying sound guy who would go on to die from their injuries, gawked at Black Hat. Slack-jawed, bug-eyed, silent and gawking. Big events, very big events, risked an appearance from him because that was the nature of things, he couldn’t possibly keep track of every charitable get-together. But this was a small fundraiser with a bad cover band and overpriced churros. There were no millions to steal, no high-profile philanthropist to skin alive. This was taking a nuke to an anthill and everyone there knew it. Black Hat, smiling, gave a little wiggle of the hand to say hello. A security guard, shaking, drew a baton and advanced upon him.

“Don’t do that,” Black Hat said.

She dropped the baton and fled. Dementia laughed and hollered like a performing wrestler, pacing across the stage and beckoning random audience members to fight her. Flug stood cooly by Black Hat’s side, mimicking his posture and putting his arms behind his back. Black Hat cleared his throat, his teeth needlepoints in his mouth. “Hello, inferior beings! Is your life a series of endless torments? Does the world seem bleak and cruel? Well, good news! It is! And this is a fucking robbery!”

“That’s not good news at all,” a woman wept.

“Shut up, it’s good news for me. Dementia!”

Dementia bounded to the centre of the stage and struck a pose, one she liked from an anime Flug couldn’t name because he had good taste. She ran forwards, her skin thinning and thinning until she vanished, untraceable save for her wild laughter in the heart of the crowd.

“Don’t bother trying to escape,” Black Hat said, “she’ll break your legs before your one neuron fires. Don’t bother trying to sneak off, either. I see you there. And if you dare phone the police I'll beat you until you cry for your mum. Man, back left, next to the popcorn stand, blue shirt and a white hat.”

Flug watched a man on the right side vanish, pulled into the seething crowd with a wet crunching noise.

“No,” Black Hat said, “no, back left. I don’t know who that was.”

“Sorry,” she yelled.

Flug watched the distant man, the correct one, this time, be yanked down and out of his sight. Flug imagined he wasn’t getting back up.

“All business owners,” Black Hat said, “bring me your lockboxes. All of them.”

Flug saw no movement in the crowd, all of them skittish.

“The last one to the stage is strung up by the tits.”

Men and women burst from stalls and barrelled towards the stage, scratching, kicking and fearing for their nipples. Black Hat nodded towards them and Flug took the boxes, grabbing them from shaking hands and those tossed at his feet in fear. One hit him in the gut, folding him over.

“Wonderful shot!” Black Hat declared. “Dr Flug, get counting.”

Flug blinked. They had the money. Shouldn’t they be leaving? “Yes, sir,” he said, biting his tongue.

“Good. Make it quick.”

He gathered the boxes into a pile and set about breaking them, the mechanisms easily shattered with a knife and pressure in the correct places. Black Hat chattered into the microphone as Flug worked. “Are you having a lovely time, hmm? The weather is nice enough. Hot, but not too humid. Of course, I prefer it humid, but whatever— woman, southwest, red skirt, black shirt.”

Flug watched, entranced, as the distant woman broke into a sprint and was dragged back kicking and screaming by an invisible Dementia.

“— Running in heels is a bold move for even the athletic, but you have to commend that kind of optimism, don’t you? Aha!”

Black Hat spied a promotional poster for the event. He spoke as if making easy conversation. “Let’s see what we have. Hmm… Emergency Aid, the Society For the Prevention of Cancer, Caspari Children’s Trust, Save the Orphans, the Black Hat Victim’s Association— oh!” Black Hat tossed his head back, laughing so hard he wheezed. “Oh, you’re going to need some donations after this one! Who’s here for that? Come now, don’t be shy.”

Black Hat squinted at the crowd, finding someone.

“You, with the lanyard. Yes, you. Don’t play dumb, it has a little hat on it! It’s not going to be Emergency Aid, is it? ‘I see you’re starving and all your children are dead, have you considered this fine beret’? You picked a terrible time to volunteer. I’m having such fun, consider yourself spared. Everyone give him a hand. Come on, give a wave.”

Very, very weak applause broke out in clusters across the audience. A man with sallow, weak eyes, stood. Pleading for reason wouldn’t work, nor pleading for morals or sense, so all he could do was stand and miserably recount the facts to the thing that ruined his life.

“Hello sir,” Black Hat smiled, sticking by his promise as a gentleman should. “What’s your name?”

“Y—”

“Yes, wonderful, have we met before?”

“You killed my wife.”

“Narrow it down, lad.”

“She was a bank teller,” he said, utterly broken. "She gave you the money. You killed her anyway.”

“When was this?”

“Fifteen years ago. October seventh. She gave you the money. She did everything you wanted and she's still dead. Why?"

“Do you play an instrument?”

He didn’t answer.

“The nails on your right hand are quite a bit longer,” Black Hat said. “You play the guitar.”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Black Hat shrugged, answering his question, “why? Because it's a hobby and it brings you joy.”

Flug shook his head, chuckling. “Ouch.”

“I’m right,” Black Hat snickered, as amused. “As far as your wife goes I don’t remember that, but it does sound like something I would do. Anyway, nice meeting you. Would you like an autograph?”

“No,” he said.

“Are you sure? I don’t give them out often, it will be fun.”

“Yes. I’m sure. I do not want an autograph.”

“Suit yourself. It would really drum up support for the charity, you know. Maybe you could sell it or something, you really need to develop a better head for business. Alright, I’m done with you, sit down.”

Nobody clapped when he sat down.

Flug finished, took a deep breath, walked to Black Hat and tapped him on the shoulder. Black Hat stood back, motioning for Flug to take the microphone. “Ah, I see you’re done! I only hire the most efficient, you know,” he said to the audience. “Go on, tell these fine people the bill. How much have we got? How many coins have we slapped away from the greedy orphans, hm? With their fat, spoiled little hands?”

“Um—”

“Come on, Dr Flug! The anticipation. It’s killing me.”

“W—”

“Dragging it out is such a showman’s trick, Dr Flug, I never knew you had that pizzaz in you!”

“Fifty dollars,” Flug said weakly.

Black Hat’s expression was locked, but his eyes narrowed. “... Come again?”

“F— Fifty—”

“Fifty thousand dollars?”

“No.”

“... Five thousand dollars, surely?”

“No. Fifty.”

“One dollar… Multiplied by fifty?”

“Yes, master. Fifty dollars.”

Black Hat shoved Flug out of the way and took the microphone again, his voice booming and unearthly. “Fifty dollars? That’s all you selfish pricks gave? Fifty dollars? Is that all that’s in here? Are you taking the piss? This whole event cost more than that, unbelievable! You people make me fucking sick! This is a charity day! You’re supposed to help those who can’t help themselves!”

Black Hat spat. Dementia, from the very back, yelled, “do that in meeeeeee!”

“Dr Flug!”

Flug stood to attention, saluting by Black Hat’s side. Black Hat removed his top hat with a meaty pop, throwing it to him. Flug removed his hands from its trajectory as if asked to catch a knife. “Take this and get some money out of them,” Black Hat said, adjusting his bowler. “Honestly. Fifty dollars. I might vomit.”

Flug looked at the top hat on the ground, a cold, shivering disgust coming over him. It wasn’t black, it was a vacuous imitation of a shade, lacking any of the normal gloss of silk. Light died unceremoniously on it, consumed by the fine black threads.

“Nothing will happen to you,” Black Hat chided, “I’ve made sure. It’s a hat, go panhandle. At least get it off the ground, it will get dirty!”

Flug, shaking, reached out. The air around his hand grew cold as it approached, the thick, burned skin chilling, the hairs on his arms stood on end. He squeezed his eyes shut upon grabbing it and with a gasp of terror found nothing happened.

“Thank you, drama queen,” Black Hat muttered. “Go, go, myrmidon, go!”

Flug composed himself and leaned into the microphone. “If— If you could all spare some money for those less fortunate—”

Mysteriously, somehow, the entire crowd needed to cough and check their phones. They avoided eye contact with Flug, attempting to disperse.

“Really,” Black Hat exhaled. “Really? You’re really going to do that now? You don’t get to do that now, pay up!”

The crowd, nervous, looked everywhere but him. He raised his voice until he could hurl it to the furthest reaches of the throng, a display of some preternatural strength. “PAY UP!”

Black Hat scanned the crowd as Flug rubbed his temples, fending off the start of a headache. “Fine,” Black Hat said, “You need an incentive. Dementia, throw me a hostage!”

A smattering of limbs and organs hit the stage.

“The hostage must be alive, Dementia!”

“Whoops,” she giggled, her mouth full. “Sorry!”

“... Are you eating churros?”

“Yeah! I stole some from the stalls.”

“What the hell is that in your hand?”

She held a pilfered Funshine Bear aloft. She was still invisible so the toy appeared to be floating above the mass of uncomfortable people. “Get one for 5.0.5,” Flug shouted.

“Flug?” she shouted back.

“Yeah?”

She presented another toy, holding it above her head. “Share Bear, bitch!”

“Thank you!”

“We are not here," Black Hat hollered, "for you to indulge your childish whims—”

“Black Hat?”

“What! What, you insufferable woman, what do you want!”

She held the third plush above her head in triumph. From the way it was moving Flug suspected she was doing some sort of triumphant dance. _“Who could forget Grumpy Beaaaar!”_

“Me! I could! I want nothing more than to do that! Throw me a hostage or I’ll call you a lot worse than insufferable— front right, black shirt!”

Another person whisked away, the victim of a technique Dementia called ‘unspining’. A young boy landed on the stage, skidding to a halt face-down in front of Black Hat. He hoisted him up by the shirt, displaying his claws. “You will do. Flug.”

Flug walked off-stage, hat in hand, and stood in front of the crowd and letting them come to him. Bills and bills, so many that they overflowed and fell onto the grass. The mob pleaded with Black Hat to let the child go. He ignored him, cajoling people into giving more. “You paid, you paid, you paid, you in the back with the awful dress, you, you donate.”

“It’s not awful! This was a gift!”

“From who, your worst enemy? You look this poor, idiot orphan in the face and tell him you don’t care. With his dead eyes and his chubby wittle cheeks.”

“I’m not an orphan,” the boy sniffled, “I’m here with my sch—”

Black Hat struck the child.

Flug made his way onstage, hat in hand, and gave it back to an eager Black Hat. Black Hat carefully placed the money into the cash boxes, taking his time. He closed them gently and handed one to the boy. “Here you go.”

The child looked at it in his hands. “Th… Thank you, sir?”

“It’s no problem, son. Here. Buy yourself a sweetie.”

Black Hat handed the child a few pennies, softly closing his palm over the boy’s hands and ruffling his hair. Black Hat then struck him again, wrenched the money box from his hands and shoved it into the cold, meaty recesses of his jacket. A throaty cackle exploded from his throat as he shoved the boy away, leaving him to flee back into the crowd.

“You know how you get when you laugh, sir,” Flug delicately interjected, fearing he would melt.

“Oh, hush, I’m having fun. Well, I don’t know about you all but I’ve had a lovely time. Any questions before I go?”

A man yelled. “Die, bastard!”

“Not a question, idiot.”

“... Die, bastard?”

“Better! No.”

Flug, growing bored, let his eyes drift across the crowd until they came to settle upon a shiny black car in the distance. A man climbed out, walked casually and, upon spotting who was onstage, broke into a sprint towards them. Flug noted a few things. One, he was holding a comically large cheque that, from the logo on the front, was dedicated to the Black Hat’s Victim’s Association. Two, he was wearing a lovely formal suit. Three, he was no longer sprinting but was, in fact flying through the air at tremendous speed directly towards Black Hat’s tender little head. Flug, deciding these things were suspicious enough to mention, tapped Black Hat’s shoulder again. He sighed. “What is it?”

Flug pointed.

“You aren’t a child, use your words— _OH SHITTING HELL!”_

Black Hat clamped his hand to his mouth as his voice broke like a surly teen’s. He spoke as fast as he could as Stratosfear thundered towards him, seconds away from turning Black Hat’s entire body into a meat paste. The crowd whooped and cheered in relief as they realised what was happening.  
  
“— If you come near me this entire crowd dies!”

The relief vanished. Stratosfear ground to a halt in front of him. Fifteen feet away.

Black Hat, the Great and Terrible Black Hat, the Black Hat, was face to face with a man no stronger than the other hundreds of superheroes he had brutally murdered. But Black Hat, Black Hat the Destroyer, that Black Hat, couldn’t climb a set of stairs without putting his hands on his knees and huffing for a good five minutes. And so Black Hat, the True Black Hat, the Invincible, Serpentine God-King Black Hat, the frail, brittle-as-slate Black Hat, had to speak as if he wasn’t terribly ill, as if he wasn’t terribly weak, and if he wasn’t terribly afraid of being rightfully murdered. He had to command all the pomp and respect he deserved. He had to threaten without a threat. He had to hold his nerve against an attack that, in any other circumstance, was suicidal.

Flug chose to keep his mouth shut, internally begging Black Hat to get them out of this.

“Forgive my abruptness!” Black Hat said, righting himself. “I wasn’t expecting you here!”

Stratosfear declined to speak. He paced in the crowd, staring Black Hat down.

“What, nothing to say? Nothing at all? Surely you want to keep me happy? It’s not just your life on the line here. What, do you think I'm stupid? A snap of my fingers and everyone here dies. Why are you here?”

Stratosfear shuddered. “I’m the spokesperson for the Black Hat Victim’s Association.”

“Of course you are, couldn’t have anyone too important or I would come along and bump them off as well. Should I project my voice or can you hear me from the bottom of that barrel?”

“Let the crowd go.”

“Well, lucky for you I was just leaving. Come along, Dr Flug. We’re done here.”

“Wait—!”

“Look,” Black Hat said, dripping with contempt, “I’m going. Let me leave peacefully and I’ll call it there. You can’t charge me because everyone here dies. I won’t bother killing you because you’re so utterly inconsequential that it’s sort of cute. Let me leave and that will be it, you can all go home to your smelly families.”

Dozens upon dozens of tearful eyes turned upon Stratosfear. The decision was an easy one. “Deal.”

Black Hat chuckled. “What, so quickly?”

Complete scorn, so absolute that Flug reeled upon seeing it. “These people don’t deserve to die for something you did. Pride gets people killed.”

“I’m sure it does.” Black Hat walked, nodding for Flug to follow. “I’m off back to my house, none of you leave until I’m gone. Toodle-oo you gangly bastard, have fun.”

“There are kids here,” Stratosfear said, a petty gripe amidst the many, many reasonable gripes he had. “Don’t swear.”

Black Hat stopped walking.

“No,” Flug said, fear rising. “No, no no, no.”

Black Hat stood perfectly still before turning on his heels and marching back to the centre of the stage. “No no no,” Flub gibbered, “no, no, he’s letting us leave!”

“What did you say?” Black Hat hissed.

“You heard me,” Stratosfear replied.

Black Hat made an incredulous noise. Flug grabbed his shoulders, “no, no, no, no, sir, for the love of God, let it go!”

“You,” Black Hat barked, “don’t get to talk back to me—!”

“I do,” Stratosfear said.

“Don’t you dare interrupt—!”

“I’ll say what I want.”

“W—”

Stratosfear opened his mouth and, in six simple words, blew Black Hat's ego apart.

“I am not afraid of you.”

Black Hat’s pupil was a pin in his eye, so fine it could barely be seen. Flug had the sense to grab the microphone and hold it away from Black Hat, leaving them to shove and bicker in front of the increasingly confused crowd.

“Sir,” Flug whispered. “Sir, I know what you’re thinking, and I really have to implore you—”

“Be a dear and pass me the microphone,” Black Hat said politely, his voice clipped and shaky.

“Breathe in for four, and out for eight. Imagine your anger as a... A balloon, or a football that’s sailing away from you, or something that doesn’t involve what I know you’re about to do,” Flug pleaded.

Black Hat wasn’t blinking. It occurred to Flug that he had only seen Black Hat this angry once.

“Flug, my fine fellow,” Black Hat trilled, his voice a sing-song. “I’m very adept at breathing, I’ve been doing it longer than you’ve been alive! You would be doing me quite the favour if you passed me that microphone.”

“You’re in real danger,” Flug implored, thinking of Black Hat’s explosion in the Kingsport. “I’m begging you, please. We can leave. Let go of your vanity and let us leave.”

“The microphone, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Dementia is still—”

Black Hat wrestled the microphone from Flug’s hands and shoved him away. Black Hat’s voice was clipped and even as if over-enunciating to someone who couldn’t parse his accent. “Testing. Can you hear me alright? I want to check that you can all hear me alright. Testing, one-two, one-two. I never did care for these things, is everything working? Dr Flug? Dementia? Everything in order? Wonderful.”

Black Hat raised a shuddering finger to point at Stratosfear.

“You.”

Black Hat’s voice broke and rose to a calamitous din.

 _“DON’T YOU FUCKING INTERRUPT ME YOU GOODY-GOODY WASTE OF MEAT,”_ Black Hat snarled, angry beyond angry, green spit foaming at his maw, _“I’LL SLIT YOU A NEW ARSEHOLE WITH MY TEETH AND HEAP DIRT IN IT WITH MY MASSIVE FUCKING SHOVEL-HANDS! I'LL_ _SEW YOU UP UNTIL YOU’RE WALKING ABOUT LIKE A DICKLESS FUCKING POTTED PLANT YOU THIN-NECKED, NO-PARENT-HAVING WASTE OF SKIN, I’LL PLANT AN AWARD-WINNING ROSE GARDEN IN YOUR DEVASTATED SHITTER BEFORE YOU CAN SAY ‘SORRY’!”_

“Oh my God,” Flug babbled, his chest on fire in fear. “Oh my God. Black Hat, let it go!”

Black Hat, somehow, through some miracle, found a part of himself that wasn’t consumed with rage and allowed it to be swept into the foaming tide. Flug tried to tackle him and drag him offstage, but couldn’t gain any traction against his weight.

 _“YOU WILL HAVE YOUR TURN TO SPEAK WHEN I STRING YOU UP BY YOUR KNEECAPS AND SWING YOU OVER MY HEAD LIKE A LASSO. YOU WILL LOOK AT ME,”_ Black Hat ordered, _“AND KNOW YOUR BETTERS, AND YOU WILL WAIT YOUR TURN.”_

Stratosfear looked on the verge of throwing aside common sense and charging Black Hat, blowing their bluff apart in a gory mess. The crowd seethed around him, holding him back. “How dare—”

_“I’LL STRETCH YOUR FORESKIN LIKE TOFFEE AND FLAY YOUR WIFE’S EYES OUT WITH IT!”_

“I don’t have a wife!”

 _“I KNOW; YOU'RE DYING ALONE. TOO-TIGHT SPANDEX WEARING BASTARD. UGLY-SUIT BITCH. I'LL_ _GET MY ASSISTANT HERE—”_

He pointed to Flug. Flug yelled indistinctly, pushing Black Hat as hard as he could.

 _“— TO LOCK YOU IN A ROOM WITH ALL THE PLUTONIUM ON THE FUCKING PLANET UNTIL YOUR PROSTATE SWELLS TO THE SIZE OF A GRAPEFRUIT AND THEN I’LL BEAT IT OUT OF YOU WITH A GOLF-CLUB. DON’T YOU EVER,”_ he roared into the mic, over the horrible whine of feedback, _“EVER FUCKING INTERRUPT ME!”_

Stratosfear’s patience finally wore thin. He took one laborious step forward, weighted down by the dozens and dozens of people pushing against him and pleading for him to reconsider. It was less a battle between the eternal forces of good and evil and instead resembled two drunk men hurling abuse at one another at a Lynyrd Skynyrd gig. “I’ll interrupt you when I tear your head off your shoulders and kick it halfway across the planet you Cockney rhyming son of a bitch!”

Flug latched onto Black Hat by the shoulders and begged him to run. _“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY!”_

“You heard me, has-been.”

_“I’M A HAS-BEEN ALRIGHT, ‘HAS-BEEN TO YOUR HOUSE TO FUCK YOUR MOTHER’.”_

“Really? That’s really the level you’re stooping to? The great and terrible Black Hat, making ‘your mother’ jokes? Oh, bravo, yeah, that’s really devastating. Yeah, she’s dead, you killed her, you killed her and it was horrible. She’s dead; what else have you got?”

“I— wait, what?”

“What else have you got? They’re dead! It’s happened, it’s done, what else have you got?”

Black Hat stuttered. He shook his head, righting himself. “... I— I have to stoop or I won’t fucking see you, you haemorrhoid of a man! I’ll walk over there and open-palm slap your head to a pulp, when it’s turned to paste you can start mashing bits together and finally get a decent brain going.”

“Try it!”

“I bloody will— Flug let go—”

Stratosfear took another difficult step forward. His face contorted and he yelped in pain, throwing his head back. He swung around, grabbed something and threw it forward as hard as he could, leaving an indentation in the wood and metal with a calamitous smack. Flug looked down and, to his horror, found he couldn’t see anything.

“Dementia!”

“Flug,” Black Hat barked, “start running.”

“Dementia,” Flug repeated, “Dementia are you alright? Say something!”

She let out a long, wet groan of pain. From the movement of the grass, she was dragging herself like a wounded animal.

“Run, Flug!”

“I’m not leaving her.”

“You aren’t,” Black Hat said, “run. I’ll get her. Run.”

“B—”

“Run!”

Black Hat ran forward and leapt into the crowd, the seething mass overflowing and splitting, dozens of people running terrified in all directions. Flug joined them, bolting from the stage and sprinting. His throat burned and his lungs ached as he was caught in the crush. Upon reaching the van he climbed in the back, brought his head to his knees and retched. The screech of tyres and the panic of people rang out around him. He couldn’t bear to look outside.

The door opened. In front of him was a young, red-haired woman. Flug reached for his knife, terrified, but sheathed it when he noticed the dark frenzy in her eyes and the long, black coat under her arm.

“Put that away,” Black Hat barked, throwing the coat in the van and scrambling to the front. The engine shuddered to life as he threw aside his tie. “Keep your head down.”

“Where’s Dementia?”

Black Hat turned to face Flug. He wore the skin of a woman that couldn’t be further from his normal body but the expression he sported could identify him at a hundred yards. “I didn’t abandon her,” he spat, shifting into gear, “now hurry up and get down! If we want to pass as victims we have to move now!”

Flug braced himself, his breaths coming out in long, ragged threads. He felt sick again. Sick with worry, with fear, with anger. Black Hat followed the horde of cars, eager to blend in.

“Where is Dementia?” Flug repeated.

“I didn’t leave her behind,” Black Hat spat.

“We could have left with the money but you couldn't help yourself.”

Black Hat split from the throng and pulled into a secluded back road, bringing the van to a stop. He clambered into the back and tore the healthy skin from his body until his sickly grey came through underneath. “Slipped into the crowd,” he rasped, scratching and skinning himself. He slid his hands under the slits in his face, tore off the rubbery flesh and shoved it into his mouth, swallowing.

“Where’s Dementia?”

Black Hat looked grim. With a heavy sigh, he flattened his coat across the floor of the van.

“You didn’t,” Flug whispered.

“I did what had to be done.”

He whipped the coat back and Dementia appeared from nowhere, shuddering, wide-eyed, clutching a Grumpy Bear and gibbering. When the interior of the van sank into her vision she stared at Black Hat. She was coated in a thin layer of stringy flesh and red mucous, like wet roots. “Where,” she cried out, frantically scrubbing it off with her hands, “the hell did I just go! There were so many floors, not floor floors, not levels to a building, but— every surface was a floor, everything was a floor, I was a floor— I blacked-out and woke up there,” she babbled, “I was everywhere, I— I saw— I saw myself running, I saw you, Black Hat, I saw so many yous—!”

“Dementia,” Flug said firmly, trying to ground her in reality. “Can you move? Are you in any pain—?”

“Yes, well,” Black Hat said, cutting him off. “You’re seeing me now so you have nothing to be afraid of. You’re fine. It’s just a coat.”

Flug grit his teeth. “Can you move, Dementia?”

“Yeah,” she said, sitting up and shaking, clinging to the bear. “Yeah, I can move. But I’m in a lot of pain and— I don’t—”

“Flex your fingers.”

She did, grateful for something to focus on.

Flug threw the door open and she stood up to demonstrate she still could. “Oh thank God,” Flug breathed. “Thank God.”

Dementia looked at her arms, moving them. “If I was a normal person,” she said, “that would have killed me.”

“It didn’t,” Flug repeated, offering his hands and letting her squeeze to ground her mind. “You’re alright now.”

“The important thing to remember,” Black Hat said, putting on his best soothing tone and awkwardly patting Dementia on the shoulder, “is… Is that… Pain is temporary, glory is forever?”

“What?” Flug asked.

“It’s always darkest before the dawn?”

“What are you talking about?”

Black Hat grit his teeth. “I’m sorry!”

Fear gave way to seething rage. “You’re sorry?” Flug spat, “you’re sorry?”

“I’m trying to be a comfort! I’m really trying and I don’t need you shouting at me, it’s not helping!”

“Neither are you!”

“I am aware!”

“Please don’t put me in the coat again,” Dementia said, shaking. “Please. If something like this happens again and I have to go in there, let me die.”

“I didn’t know how injured you were,” Black Hat said, “and it was the only way to get us out undetected. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m not used to trying to... You’re clearly…”

Black Hat wrung his hands, well out of his depth.

“Upset. Being in there isn’t pleasant. I understand that. It would make you scared, and sad, and other… Things. You’re probably doing some… Feelings?”

Flug watched, astonished, as Black Hat struggled to cobble together some basic emotional literacy from several hundred lifetimes of talking at people and not to them. It was like watching a child trying to describe a character from a picture-book, knowing full well what they see but lacking the means to articulate it. Black Hat sighed, coming up against a problem he could neither bribe nor murder. Flug stared at him.

Black Hat diverted his attention upwards and towards a method of communication he was more suited to. “Don’t you patronize me, Flug” he snarled, “Go on, eat it up. Feel normal for once in your bloody life.”

Flug reeled. Black Hat ran his hands down his face with enough force to distend the skin around his eyes for a brief moment, exposing the flesh of his cheeks. “Right, that was uncalled for. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that, sorry. I’m floundering, Flug! Help! This is my fault, help me!”

Flug watched, slack-jawed. Black Hat, in some kind of frenzy, clicked his fingers, a wide smile plastered on his face. “I’ve got it!”

“You do?”

“Of course I do, I’m Black Hat! Dementia?”

She sniffled. She looked up at him, her eyes soaked with tears.

“FEEL BETTER!”

She cried harder, in horrible pain. “Black Hat,” Flug snapped.

“Yes. Yes, you’re right, that didn’t help,” Black Hat responded feverishly, the final tethers to his self-worth fraying and snapping underneath him. “I am apologizing now. Sorry. Look, you didn’t have to poke me to do it. Come on, Dementia,” he pleaded. He grabbed her by the bob and shook her head as if trying to dislodge a stubborn carrot from the garden. “Cooee! Feel better! Feel better for Hatty! Stop crying! Come on now! Stop that! Forgive me!”

“You think you’re helping?” Flug baulked.

“Yes! No! Yes? I don’t know,” Black Hat admitted, frenzied to tears. “Flug, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing! Please, please tell me what to do, I’m making things worse!”

Flug, frazzled and tasked with reigning in two different mental breakdowns, snapped. “That’s what you wanted!”

“Not for you! Not for her! He let me walk away and it was too easy. I couldn’t take it. What the hell is wrong with me?”

“You’re a spoiled, glory-hungry egomaniac addicted to being looked at.”

“I just don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

Flug rubbed his face under the bag. He wanted to scream.

“My stupid temper,” Black Hat ranted, “my own temper nearly got us all killed! Me! Not you, not Dementia, I can’t even blame that fucking bear— me! A complete, unmitigated disaster and it’s completely my fault! I am an utter failure, an utter, miserable failure of a man and Dementia is suffering under my overwhelming incompetence! All it took was a single man, he didn’t even land a punch, to completely undo me! Lord Black Hat, taken down by some measly idiot!”

Flug noted, with disgust, that even Dementia’s injuries were about him.

“It’s just a title,” Black Hat continued, “even my name is just a title! Everything I do is so shrouded in itself, but what do you see when you peel that back, hm? The masks, the layers and layers of stolen skin? You see nothing! There is nothing there but rot and failure, mistakes to be glossed over and never thought about again! All I had to do was put aside my own insufferable ego for five minutes, a blink of the eye, and I still couldn’t manage it!”

“You’re doing it right now,” Flug said. “You’re—”

“What the hell have I done to myself?” Black Hat wept. “I never used to be like this. It never used to be this bad. What have I done to myself? How could I not see, how could I not notice as the rot took hold? I used my powers as a crutch to prop up my putrid mind, to indulge my childish whims. I should be thanking you, Flug! I see now, only now, what the years have done to me, what I have done to me! No more! I cannot take it, no more, I am sorry for what I have done to you, I am sorry for what I will do in my blundering idiocy, I am sorry! Dementia, I am sorry! If you have any sense you will run screaming from here and you will take Flug with you, and I wouldn’t dare dream of stopping you! It would be the best decision you ever made, go on, flee!”

“But I don’t want to go,” she said. “I love you. You’ll die.”

“It’s what I deserve!”

Flug, touched by Black Hat’s admission of care, did what he should have done a long time ago. He sank to his knees and gently cupped Black Hat’s face, feeling the cool, smooth scales of his cheeks. “Black Hat?” Flug said gently.

“Yes?”

_“Shut the fuck up!”_

Black Hat blinked, confused. “Wh— What?”

“You are a mess. I can’t coddle you anymore. Shut up. For once in your fucking life, shut up, stop fucking talking! Dementia is hurt! Shut the fuck up, Black Hat, you arrogant son of a bitch. Shut up, Black Hat, for the love of God, shut the fuck up. This is your fault. Shut the fuck up.”

“But I care—”

“Show it by not throwing a hissy fit and getting us all killed. I’m going to check Dementia over. Be quiet when I do this. I need to concentrate. Shut up, Black Hat. Black Hat, shut up.”

“You two can have all the money—”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Can—”

“No. I don’t know what you were going to say, but no. Sit there, think about what you’ve done and shut the fuck up, you selfish bastard! Shut the fuck up!”

Black Hat sat in silence, miserable. Dementia unzipped her top with a hiss of pain, dropping it to the ground, staying still to let Flug check for any protrusions or bruising. The skin of her front was a nasty, burning red. “Raise your arms, if you can,” he said, and she complied. “Breathe in.”

She took a shuddering breath and groaned, dropping her arms and clutching her chest. Flug gasped when he saw her back.

“I’m sorry,” Black Hat blubbered.

Flug, ignoring him, attended to Dementia’s injuries.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> child beating conventions really ARE popular this time of year... 
> 
> black hat slaps a child, dementia slaps like seven different people, and flug slaps black hat's ego to death! if you missed it, [here's a malcon bonus chapter!](https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/38372525%22)


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